


Return to the Abyss

by Caspartine



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Here Lies the Abyss Spoilers, Multi, Post-Canon, Pre-Trespasser
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:18:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 23,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3376169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caspartine/pseuds/Caspartine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke was lost in the Fade at Adamant. After receiving Varric's letter, Merrill decides to mount a rescue attempt. With the unexpected help of Fenris, she journeys south, seeking a way to bring the Champion home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just for some context, in this canon, Hawke is a rogue who sided with the mages, left Anders alive, and never encountered Sebastian. And she never quite got close enough to Isabela for the pirate to return after the Arishok was killed.

When Merrill finished reading Varric's letter, the first thing she thought was, “That's just like Hawke." Of course she'd stayed behind in the Fade to give the Inquisitor time to escape. _Of course_ she had- she wouldn't be Hawke if she hadn't. Fear gripped her heart. The way Varric had made it sound, Hawke had been facing a powerful demon that she had little chance against. She was presumed...lost. Merrill nearly gave way to tears then and there, in her little house in the alienage- the thought of a life without Hawke in it... Her quick laugh, her gentle smile, her generosity, her fierce, undying love. The way she brushed Merrill's hair off her face, called her _“vhenan_ ” with such passion, even when Elvhen was so difficult for her human tongue. No, life without her would be unbearable. And suddenly Merrill was angry, because Hawke had _left her_. How could she? If there was even the slightest chance that she had survived, and was still alive in the Fade somewhere, Merrill would find a way to bring her back. And if the worst had happened... well, at least she would know for sure.

By the next morning, Merrill had packed up her few belongings, and was on her way. She left a note in her home in the alienage if anyone came looking for her; the refugees she had been helping or the alienage leaders. She felt a twinge of guilt for leaving them, but now Hawke needed her far more than the people she left behind.

Getting a ship out of Kirkwall, across the Waking Sea, was difficult these days, and so she headed west to Cumberland. With the unrest that was almost everywhere in southern Thedas, she thought it best to keep off of the main roads. Instead, she kept to the woods and fields, carefully avoiding any areas where large groups of people congregated. Her senses were always on high alert, and at the slightest sign of trouble, she was up in a tree, or hidden beneath a bush. It wasn't that she was incapable of protecting herself. Her years with Hawke had helped her refine her combat techniques to the point where she could go toe-to-toe with the most combat-hardened bandits, soldiers, or templars, and have a good chance of coming out on top. But she was alone, and wary of being severely outnumbered in a fight. She would be no good to Hawke if she died before she even got to the Fade.

At the moment, she still hadn't decided how exactly she would rescue Hawke, but as she walked, she chewed on the problem. The trouble was, as Varric had described, Hawke wasn't just in the Fade as most people entered- through dreams. No, she was physically there. As far as Merrill knew, that had never been done before the sky had been torn apart by the Breach. Varric had described rifts that had opened in many places, where demons could come through to this world. So her first step was to the find one of those rifts, and see if there was a way for her to use it as a physical entrance to the Fade. That would mean going south, to Ferelden or Orlais, for as far as she knew, the rifts were concentrated in only those areas. If any had opened in the Free Marches, she had not heard of them from the various refugees in the city. So south it had to be.

She made it halfway to Cumberland before she ran into trouble. The bandits had covered their trails well, and she practically stumbled into their camp. As it was, she didn't have time for her usual hiding tactics before they'd spotted her, and surged forwards with drawn swords. Merrill drew on her power, and the ground cracked around them. The bandits stumbled backwards, but some had slipped around behind her, and before she knew it, she was fighting for her life. A twist of her staff caused the roots and branches of the forest to writhe and reach out for her enemies. Two men cried out as she inflicted fear on them, while another swung an axe that bounced off the barrier she erected. Grimly Merrill shot off spell after spell, but she could feel her energy waning. Soon she would have to call upon her blood magic, though she would prefer not to use her last resort so soon. An odd commotion at the edge of the battle caught her eye. A flash of silver and black, light glancing off the blade of an enormous greatsword that cleaved its way through the ranks of the bandits. Merrill recognized that fighting style; she grinned, and redoubled her efforts. It wasn't long before the last bandit was slain. Merrill leant on her staff and took a breath, then turned to face her rescuer.

"Hullo, Fenris. I didn't expect to see you here. I'm certainly glad you are."

The other elf withdrew his blade from his last victim, and looked up. He had grown out his hair since she'd last seen him; it was shoulder-length and tied in a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck, a few wild strands framing his face. He had exchanged most of his armor, save breast and shoulder plates, for leathers and furs more suited to life in the wilderness. His dark skin had been darkened further from the sun, and the lyrium tattoos etched into his skin shone more brightly in contrast.

"Merrill? What are you doing out here?"

"I'm going to save Hawke, that's what!"

"Hawke?" That got his full attention, and he strode over to face her, "What's happened to Hawke?"

He didn't know already? "Didn't you get a letter from Varric?"

He laughed harshly, "You think I get letters all the way out here?" A wave of his hand took in the dense foliage of the forest. "Tell me."

She did. He hadn't yet heard of the Inquisition, though he knew of the Breach and that somebody had closed it, so that required some more explaining. She explained how Corypheus was not dead as they'd thought, that he had made the Wardens hear a false Call, how Hawke had volunteered information to the Inquisition. the siege at Adamant, the trip to the Fade, and how Hawke had stayed behind.

"And I'm going to get her back," she finished, decisively.

Fenris swore in Tevene and punched a nearby tree.

"Hawke was always so damned selfless and noble." He kicked the tree for good measure, then turned back to Merrill. "I'm coming with you."

"You...you are? You'll help me?"

"Not for you," he said scornfully, "For Hawke. I owe her...everything. Together we stand a better chance of getting her back."

"I understand. Thank you, Fenris."

"Don't thank me. Just lead the way."


	2. Chapter 2

It was odd, after travelling alone for so long, to have a companion on the road. Fenris moved over the forest floor almost as silently as she did, but Merrill was constantly aware of his presence at her side. She eyed him as they walked, wondering if she should try to make conversation. With anyone else, she would have in an instant. But she'd learned a long time ago that Fenris had little patience for her or her prattle. Over their years as part of Hawke's little band, his initial hostility towards her had lessened into a sullen wariness and uneasy truce between them. Was accepting his help a good idea or would they end up at each other’s throats without Hawke's conciliatory presence?

They made camp in a little grove of pine trees, as the sun began its descent. Without a word, they fell into the roles they had taken whenever they had gone travelling with Hawke. Fenris collected wood for the fire while Merrill stalked and caught a couple of rabbits for dinner. In the old days, Merrill and Hawke had hunted together, Hawke's arrows and Merrill's magic making short work of providing meals for their entire party. Merrill was reminded of it now, and felt a sharp ache in her heart.

Fenris had the fire going by the time she returned, and wordlessly helped her skin and cook the animals. He turned the spit while Merrill rummaged through her pack for seasoning.

"Why-" he began, breaking the silence so suddenly that Merrill jumped. He sighed at that, then continued "-have you been looking at me all day as if I were about to eat you?"

"I have not!" she said indignantly. "It's just... you're only here for Hawke. We only ever worked together when she was here. I don't know how we can now. You've always hated me."

His eyes widened slightly, and he looked down. For a few moments, she thought he wouldn't reply.

"I don't hate you, Merrill,” he said slowly, “I used to. But not now." He looked up to the sky, where the moon, big and round and full, was just visible above the treetops. "It took me a long time, but I saw that you had only ever been kind to me. Despite what you are, despite how misguided your actions have sometimes been, you have a good heart, Merrill. Hawke would not love you if you did not."

"Oh!" said Merrill, eyes wide.

Fenris looked sideways at her, "Don't do that."

"Sorry," she said, brushing away the tears that welled in her eyes. "I'm being silly. But that means a lot coming from you, Fenris. Thank you."

He shrugged uncomfortably. "It needed to be said. Now we can focus on getting Hawke back."

She wanted to hug him, but knew him well enough not to. Instead, she contented herself with humming a little as she seasoned their dinner, thinking that perhaps things would work out after all.

~~~

The next few days were the best Merrill had had in a while. The weather was beautifully warm and sunny, and after their little talk, she felt much more comfortable with Fenris at her side. Travelling alone had been stressful, and knowing she had Fenris now to watch her back, she let herself relax a bit and enjoy herself. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, there was little evidence of the wars that raged in the world. The birds sang and fluttered between the trees of the forest. Merrill took some grains from her pack, and held out her hand.

"What are you doing?" asked Fenris.

"Hush and watch," she whispered.

After a few moments, a flock of a dozen little birds were fluttering between nearby bushes and her hand, taking a moment to pick out the biggest seeds before flitting away again. With spring only just come, they were still hungry after the long winter. Merrill grinned; she'd missed being able to do this.

When Fenris huffed with impatience and moved away, Merrill reluctantly closed her hand and followed him. But she'd seen him watching the birds with interest, and she smiled to herself.

"Do you want to try next time, Fenris?" she asked, skipping to catch up with him.

"Don't be foolish. We're on a mission, aren't we? Do we really have time to be feeding birds?"

"Hawke always did. She said a few minutes of relaxation make the journey twice as fast!"

"Huh," said Fenris. But he didn't protest whenever she stopped to feed birds after that.

The rest of the journey to Cumberland was entirely uneventful. They didn't meet a single soul, or even any hostile animals.

"I took care of most of the slavers in this area," Fenris told her when she remarked on it. "As well as the bears."

That explained where he'd gotten his furs from.

Forest gave way to plains and grasslands, and then to rugged coastline that reminded her a little of the Wounded Coast around Kirkwall. Except here the wind blew cold from the south, where spring was not quite as far advanced as further north. At some point, though where exactly, Merrill wasn't quite sure, they'd crossed into Nevarra, and as they rounded a bend in the coast, the city of Cumberland came into view.

One of Nevarra's biggest centres of trade, Cumberland was a sprawling metropolis, straddling the Cumber river. They entered the city in the mid-afternoon, and they were almost swept apart by the crowds that swirled around them. Fenris grabbed Merrill by the wrist, and together they navigated their way through the throngs of people. Merrill had never had the best sense of direction in cities; it had taken her years and Varric's ball of string, to learn her way around Kirkwall. It was just as well she had Fenris, then, for he seemed to have a much better sense of where they needed to go. A few people they passed gave them curious looks, but none seemed hostile, so she ignored them. She had grown used to stares, trailing around after Hawke as part of her odd band of misfits.

Fenris eventually got them down to the docks, and they searched around for a ship that would give them passage to Jader.

"Sure. We're leaving on the tide tomorrow morning. You got coin?" This from a grizzled captain of a small merchant vessel that was being loaded up behind him as they spoke.

"Yes," said Merrill. "How much for the two of us?"

The man looked them up and down, then named his price. Merrill winced. She had the coin, but it was a little more than she'd wanted to pay, considering she wasn't sure how much longer she would need it to last.

"Just one moment, please." said Merrill. She and Fenris walked a short distance away, before conferring.

"Do you have any money, Fenris?" His answer was to produce a coin pouch from inside his armour.

"Enough to cover my share. But that will be all of it."

"I suppose we could see if anyone would take us for less," she suggested, unconvinced.

"Ha. In these times, we are lucky to find anyone willing to take on as suspicious a pair of elves as us. But perhaps we might bargain with him." His hand reached for his sword, making clear his idea of bargaining.

"No! Fenris, we are not threatening him into taking us! They'll throw us overboard the minute we fall asleep."

"Then I will not sleep." He wouldn't, too. Despite the crossing lasting at least three days in good weather.

"Don't be silly." She sighed. "We'll just have to pay him, and worry about money later."

She walked back over to the captain. "We will pay your price. But that includes meals, and _safe_ passage."

He looked a bit taken aback by her firm tone, but did not argue. "Alright, then. You have my word. Be here tomorrow at dawn."

They spent the night in the cheapest tavern they could find, back-to-back in a tiny, but mercifully clean, bed. In the morning, they paid the captain, and boarded the ship.

Merrill stayed at the bow of the ship as they got under way; tasting the salty tang of the sea air, and remembering the last time she had been on a ship. More than ten years ago, she and her clan had huddled in the dark, cramped hull of a vessel not much bigger than this one, fleeing the Blight. Then, they had all been mourning the death of Tamlen, and the departure of Mahariel to the Grey Wardens. Merrill had clung to her Eluvian fragment, trying to stop it shifting every time the ship crested a wave, while the others tried to calm their halla. Those had been some of the most miserable days of all their lives. Now, her purpose was as grim as it had been then, but the Merrill from back then was nearly an entirely different person from the Merrill who watched the waves rock beneath her and the city of Cumberland disappear over the horizon. She breathed deeply, and turned to watch the horizon ahead.


	3. Chapter 3

_The rain falls heavily in Kirkwall. Outside, the streets are awash in mud and dead leaves, running down the sloping streets to Lowtown and the docks. Today, there are no errands to run, no plots to thwart, no bandits to slay, and so Hawke and Merrill have taken refuge by the fireplace in Hawke's estate. They're curled up together, limbs intertwined, Merrill half in Hawke's lap. Merrill is reading, one of Varric's latest serials, while Hawke stares into the fire, lost to her thoughts as she often is these days, hand idly stroking Merrill's hair. The fire is warm on their faces, welcome against the chill that permeates the house from the damp cold outside. From the kitchen come the faint sounds of Bodahn puttering around, but for the most part, they are lost in their own little bubble, far from the world. Softly, Hawke breaks the silence,_

_"Merrill?"_

_"Mmmm?"_

_"That word you call me- vay-nan? Is that right?"_

_"_ Vhenan _," Merrill corrects automatically._

_"Yes. What does it mean?"_

_Merrill shifts around to look at her._

_"I thought you knew. It means ‘heart’."_

_"I knew from the way you said it that it meant something nice. 'Heart'," she sighs, "That's nicer than I expected. Can you say it again?"_

_"_ Vhenan _." Merrill repeats obligingly._

_"Venan," Hawke tries._

_"Closer!" says Merrill. They try a few more times, back and forth, until Hawke has nearly got it. Merrill smiles._

_"May I...may I use it? To call you by? Even if I don't say it right?" asks Hawke, unusually hesitant._

_"Of course," says Merrill. "I like hearing you say it, Hawke."_

_"_ Vhenan _," says Hawke with feeling, and then leans down to kiss her, soft and sweet. "How do you say: ‘I love you?’," she whispers, mouth still close to Merrill's._

_"_ Ma'arlath _," says Merrill, stretching one arm around Hawke to draw her closer. Hawke repeats the phrase, a little clumsily, but Merrill doesn't care. It's so nice to hear the Elvhen words on the tongue of the woman she loves. They kiss again, more passionately this time. Outside, the rain continues to fall, but they are blissfully lost in each other._

 

~~~

 

Fenris kept a watchful eye on the ships' crew for the entire voyage. He spent most of the three days leaning against the stern rail, arms crossed. The crew avoided him as much as possible, but nobody tried to start trouble. For her part, Merrill got her sea legs quickly, and was soon clambering around in the rigging, eyes straining to the south for a first sight of land. The crew, mostly humans but with a few elves amongst them, tolerated her presence, and even answered her numerous questions about the ship and themselves.

"Why do you bother with such things?" asked Fenris, when she came over to him after an hour spent learning sailor's knots.

"It passes the time, and it might come in useful. Look, we never used this one on the aravels!" she held up a knotted piece of rope. "But then, I suppose sea knots should be different to land knots. The only water we needed to worry about was rain."

"But your aravels are pulled by halla, and not the wind, are they not? So they would naturally need to account for different forces," Fenris pointed out.

"Oh! Of course, you're right. I wonder if a Dalish knot would hold against the wind. I'm going to test it." She skipped off to try and convince a crewman to let her redo some of the knots holding the sails down. To her surprise, he let her try, on a small, less important sail. Within an hour, it had blown free, flapping on a single line connected to the mast.

"It seems your knots are inadequate, Merrill," said Fenris, a hint of amusement on his face.

"Oh, laugh if you want. But our knots work much better for what they're meant for!" But she smiled as she waltzed away.

By late in the third day, the novelty of sea travel had worn off for Merrill. She'd done her best to keep herself distracted, but she was beginning to get restless. If only she knew wind magic, she could move them forwards faster! Luckily, it wasn't long before the cry of "Land ho!" came from the lookout in the crow's nest. Merrill dashed up into the rigging to join him, and watched eagerly as the distant shoreline drew ever nearer.

They docked just before dusk settled in the small port of Jader. It was a Grey Warden base, she'd heard, and the town had grown up around the fortress. Stepping onto the docks, she could see it in the distance, an imposing structure up on the hill that reminded her a little of the Gallows back in Kirkwall. Merrill had never been to Orlais before, and hearing the unfamiliar language all around her was peculiar. Thankfully, the town was big enough that most of the people also spoke the common tongue, albeit with a heavy accent, and so they had little trouble finding food and lodgings for the night. From the innkeeper, they learnt about the assassination attempt on the Empress in Halamshiral, and how the Inquisitor had stopped it. There were also rumors of troops mustering far to the south, preparing for a great battle. Fenris and Merrill exchanged looks.

"Do you think they're making a final stand against Corypheus?" asked Merrill in hushed tones.

Fenris shrugged. "Who can say? But if the enemy is far to the south, that makes our own journey easier."

The next day, they purchased some more supplies before leaving Jader. At the first crossroads they came to, Merrill stopped suddenly.

"What's wrong?" asked Fenris.

"I don't... that is, I'm not sure which way we should go." She had not though much beyond crossing the sea, and now she cursed herself for leaping into this journey without a better plan in mind. How on earth was she supposed to help Hawke when she was making such foolish mistakes so early on?

"I thought you knew where we were going," he said, exasperated.

"I do! Well, sort of. We need to find a rift, but I don't know where we're more likely to find them. Should we go south to Ferelden, or west into Orlais? Oh dear…"

Fenris considered for a bit. "Orlais seems...particularly troubled, at the moment," he said slowly. "And you lived in Ferelden, didn't you? So you know it better." She nodded. "Then I propose we continue south."

Without further discussion, he took the left fork, and Merrill was left to trail in his wake.


	4. Chapter 4

They reached the Imperial Highway after about two days’ walking, and turned east towards Gherlen's Pass. They didn't follow the highway itself, still wary about running into trouble, but instead skirted through the forests at its edges. As they walked, Merrill began to search with her magical senses for rifts in the Fade. But to her frustration they saw no signs of any, nor of any other suspicious occurrences. What they did see, to a depressing degree, were signs of the mage-templar war that had so recently been brought to a halt by the Inquisition's interference. Broken staves, discarded armor, and bodies picked clean long ago by scavengers all paid testament to the bloody battles that had taken place. Every time they passed through such an area, they fell into a heavy silence, and Merrill knew they were both remembering the events in Kirkwall that had precipitated this tragedy. So much anger, so much hate, so many lives needlessly wasted. It made her want to cry.

As they drew closer to Lake Calenhad, the evidence of the war grew ever more present and obvious as they approached areas where a great amount of the fighting had taken place. They spent one night in the dubious shelter of a building that had been half-gutted by fire, though it was impossible to tell whether that fire had magical or mundane origins. Merrill found fragments of a letter from a young mage to his mother. " _Don't worry for me, Mother, for our cause is just. The mages will be free, soon, to be who we were meant to be_ ," it read. Fenris snorted, when she read it out loud.

"That sounds like _him_ ," he said, with a sneer. She didn't need to ask who he was referring to. They had both spent years watching the mage's cause slowly eroding away at Anders.

"I wonder what's become of him," said Merrill, voicing something that had been on her mind for several days now. She had not thought of him in years; Hawke had refused to talk about him. Though she had supported the mages (how could she not, when two of her closest family members had been apostates, as well as her lover), Anders' betrayal had affected her a great deal. She had nearly killed him on that fateful night. Only the memory of what their friendship had been, and an understanding of what he had suffered, had stayed her hand. When Meredith had been defeated, all Hawke could say to him was, "Go. Just _go_." And they had not seen hide nor hair of him since. Time and distance had made the sting of his actions lessen, at least for Merrill. Besides, how could she judge? She thought of Marethari and the demon, how her own clan had nearly killed her before Hawke had talked them down. Forgivable or not, how the ripples of his actions had shaken the world made clear that it had only been a matter of time before the Circles rebelled.

"Died in a ditch, most likely," said Fenris, a little callously.

"Oh, I hope not. He wasn't all bad."

"No," admitted Fenris, heavily, as if it cost him a lot to say so, "He was not."

Merrill smiled a little. "I hope we do see him again, so I can tell him you said that."

"You will not."

"I will, though. Better yet, you can tell him yourself."

"I would rather eat a dozen spiders."

"The giant ones or the little ones?"

He didn't answer her teasing, for another charred scrap of paper on the cabin floor had caught his attention. ". _..enclosed are his personal effects. We are sorry for your loss..."_ he read, without a stumble. Hawke's lessons had paid off.

"Oh, no," said Merrill, sad once again. "He must have died, that mage boy." She looked around again at the burnt-out building. "His poor mother. I hope she got away before the fire, at least."

"We will never know, I suppose."

They spent an uneasy night, that night, with the ghosts of the victims of war hanging in the air.

 

~~~

Light glinting off water told Merrill that they had finally reached the shores of Lake Calenhad, and they followed the shoreline further south, still with no sign of rifts. Had Varric been exaggerating on their numbers, or had the Inquisitor already closed all the ones around here? Fenris, unexpectedly, made no comments, but Merrill was becoming increasingly frustrated. Every day that she couldn't get to Hawke was another day in which her love might have met her end, if she hadn't already. Time moved differently in the Fade when accessed the normal way, but she had no way of knowing whether that would hold true if one was physically there. From Hawke's perspective, she might have been there mere hours, or for many years. Merrill hoped it was the former.

Years ago, Merrill's clan had visited these parts, and though the area had changed a great deal, still there were landmarks she recognized. She passed the time by recounting to Fenris her memories of the area. It had been long enough now that such stories, of happier times with her clan, were nowhere near as painful.

"Look, Fenris! See that rock over there, shaped a bit like a dog’s head. When we were children, Mahariel and Tamlen- oh, they were inseparable, those two!- they would dive off into the water from there. They'd scare all the fishes away, and the hunters would be so angry! As punishment, they had to eat dried bread for dinner, while the rest of us got whatever fish the hunters did catch. We didn't often camp very close to lakes, so fresh fish was a nice treat. But Mahariel had caught some of her own earlier in the day, so later she and Tamlen just went off to where they'd stashed them, and had more fish than any of us got! They only confessed to me much later, when they gave me whatever they couldn’t eat." She laughed. "Mahariel was always too clever by half, you know!"

"This is the Mahariel who became the Hero of Ferelden?" asked Fenris.

"I know, this doesn't sound like her at all. But we all change from when we're children, don't we?"

His reply, however, went unheard. Merrill had just rounded a corner and spotted, off in the distance, an eerie glowing green light in the sky, and felt a corresponding pull in her magic.

"Oh!" she breathed. "We found a rift!"


	5. Chapter 5

The Rift itself was not quite as big as she'd been expecting. It hung in the sky, maybe twenty metres above the ground, like a poisonous green star. Merrill and Fenris, crouched on the edge of the cliff above the beach, were about eye-level with it. Down below a handful of demons prowled- Rage, Despair, and Terror.

"It's a little higher up than I thought it would be," whispered Merrill to Fenris.

"How close do you need to get to it?" asked the other elf.

"Only close enough to test its energies, see if there's any way to get through it from this side," she replied. "I could raise myself up a bit with a few of those rocks," she indicated the base of the cliff, where a collection of large boulders were clustered, "But we'd need to get rid of those demons first."

The energies around the Rift shifted, and with a flash of light and a loud crackling noise, it ejected another creature, a wraith, that joined the others in their patrol of the beach.

"How long will this examination of yours take?" asked Fenris. "Even if we kill all of those, more will clearly come through."

Merrill bit her lip. "I don't know," she admitted.

Fenris sighed. "Once we have defeated those demons, I will stand guard while you do your work. If more demons emerge, I will keep them from you for as long as possible. Too long, and we will have to run. Understand?"

Merrill nodded. "Let's go."

They slipped back the way they had come, and circled around to descend to the beach. They approached the demons quietly, and cautiously. Merrill cast barriers around both herself and Fenris before they broke cover, and rushed forwards. Merrill froze the Rage demon with a twirl of her staff. A blast of fire set alight the edges of the Despair demon’s robes. Fenris moved forwards to engage it as it twisted about in agony, his enormous greatsword in hand, his lyrium tattoos already glowing. Merrill slammed a boulder into the Terror demon, ignoring its prickling influence on her consciousness that made her want to run and hide. The Rage demon had thawed itself, and now it sent a bolt of fire in her direction, which was deflected by her barrier and flew off into the lake. She called lightning down on it, and then jumped out of its path, clambering onto a pile of rocks to give herself some height.

At the edge of her vision, she saw Fenris blur out of sight, only to reappear moments later behind his opponent, delivering a heavy blow with his sword that brought the Despair demon to the ground. That dealt with, he turned his attention to the Rage demon. A bolt of energy grazed by Merrill’s head, and she followed its path back to the wraith lurking at the edge of the battlefield. She returned its fire with a series of arcane bolts of her own, followed by a lightning bolt that obliterated it.

Movement near her feet drew her eyes to the ground a split second before the Terror demon, now free of her boulder, erupted from it, knocking her to the sand. Her breath left her lungs in a whoosh, and for a few moments all she could do was gasp for air. The demon bore down on her, and in desperation she leveled the bladed end of her staff at one of its spindly legs, and thrust forwards. It stumbled long enough to give her a chance to roll out of its path, and she managed to erect a barrier between them. Still gasping for breath, Merrill clambered to her feet, and leant on her staff for a moment. Fumbling at her belt, she withdrew a small lyrium potion and downed it in one swallow. Somewhat reinvigorated, she trapped the demon in the ground with a slam of her staff. She gathered her power, and finished the creature off with a concentrated blast of flames that reduced it to cinders.

Merrill glanced over in time to see Fenris defeat the Rage demon with a final swing of his sword. “Are you alright, Fenris?” she called.

“Not a scratch,” he replied, “Is that the last of them?”

She stretched out her senses, “I think so.”

“Good,” he moved away from the Rift to a fallen log, and sat down, his sword across his knees. “Then I shall keep watch while you work.”

Merrill turned to look up at the Rift above them. It seemed stable for the moment, but she had no way of knowing for how long. She would have to work quickly. With a few flicks of her staff, she drew the nearby rocks towards her, and then piled them on top of one another, creating a makeshift staircase up to the Rift. She put a few barriers in place to keep the pile steady, and then climbed it carefully. She stopped when she was an arm’s length away from the Rift, and extended her hand to touch the green energies at its edge. A shock of magic ran up her arm, and she withdrew quickly, her hand numb.

“Well that was silly, Merrill, sticking your hand into raw Fade energy,” she muttered to herself as she shook her hand in an attempt to get feeling back into it. She hopped back to the ground and retrieved a fallen tree branch, a little shorter than her own staff, and returned to the Rift. She cast a small barrier around its end, and poked at the Rift with it. Energies crackled around it, but nothing else happened.

“Are you honestly poking the Fade with a stick?” called Fenris from below.

“I’d like to see you do better,” she returned.

She pushed the stick further into the Rift, aiming for the dense energies at its center, and then she pushed her power along it, trying to force the Fade open. The stick exploded, shattering into thousands of tiny shards, and only Merrill’s quick reflexes kept her from getting a face full of splinters.

“Oh, that’s not good.”

She spent the next half an hour trying everything she could think of to test the Rift. She flung various spells, physical objects, even a lyrium potion at in. All were repelled in a similar fashion to the stick, and despite her best efforts, she ended up with a little collection of burns across her face and arms. Eventually, she even tapped into her blood magic, but to no avail. The Rift was a bright object in her magical senses, and she could see that there was a way through, but she could not access it. It was a closed door that she could not open. Frustrated, Merrill was about to jump back down to the beach when she felt the Rift activate. Something was coming through. A big something, judging by the enormous surge of energy. Seizing the chance, she pushed one more time with her magical senses, searching for the way through, but still the Rift did not yield. It sparked, and sent tendrils of energy soaring to the ground that coalesced into a pair of massive Pride demons.

“Merrill!” yelled Fenris, jumping to his feet.

“Coming!” She retrieved her staff, and vaulted to the ground. She rushed over to Fenris.

“We need to go. Now,” he said, already turning to run. The demons seemed to be taking in their surroundings, and had not yet seen the two elves.  

“We can’t just leave them here; they might cause all kinds of destruction!” she protested.

“Merrill, we cannot take on two _Pride_ demons with only the two of us.”

One of the demons roared, and started towards them.

“You make a good point,” said Merrill. Quickly, she erected a barrier between them and the demons, and then they started to run.

Up the embankment, and through the trees they ran, until they were completely certain they had not been followed, and drew to a halt, both a little short of breath.

“Did you at least figure anything out, for all your messing about?” asking Fenris, as they scouted around for a place to set up camp.

“Not as much as I’d hoped,” said Merrill sadly. “But I do know that those Rifts are strictly one-way. If we tried to go through them, not matter what precautions we took, we’d be torn to shreds.”

Fenris was quite for a few minutes, his face a stormy mask. “Then what is our next move?” he asked at last.

“We might not be able to do this by ourselves. But we do know there is at least one person who can use the Rifts to get into the Fade. I think,” she said, “that we should make a trip to Skyhold.”


	6. Chapter 6

_“Aha! I win again!” Hawke reaches across the table for her winnings. She’s on a roll tonight, fresh from the triumph of buying back her family estate. The whole gang has gathered in the Hanged Man to help her celebrate. Naturally, after a few drinks, Varric had suggested they play Wicked Grace. Merrill is sitting this one out, curled in a chair at the end of the table, absently petting Hawke’s mabari Horatio._

_“Come on, Hawke, you’re going to bankrupt me,” complains Varric._

_“You’re welcome to try and take it back, Tethras,” says Hawke, a glint in her eye._

_“You’re on. Who else is in?”_

_“I think I’m going to cut my losses and head back to the clinic,” says Anders. He hasn’t shaken off the effect the Deeproads had on him, and has seemed more on edge lately. Hawke watches him go with concern, then turns back to the table. Varric deals and the game begins again._

_Merrill watches them all through sleepy eyes, but mostly she watches Hawke. She has not been among humans long, but she knows enough to tell that Hawke is different from most. Kinder, braver, with an unmatched steel and determination in everything she does. Selfless, as well. Merrill knows she is hurting, from the loss of her sister to the Wardens, but for the sake of her family and friends, she pretends that she isn’t. Merrill has caught the pain in her eyes when she thought no one was watching. Hawke is beautiful, no matter what expression she wears, but especially when she laughs, thinks Merrill, as Hawke’s face lights up at a joke told by Isabela. That thought surprises her a little, stirring up new feelings that Merrill cannot quite put a name to. Not yet, at any rate. For now, she will enjoy this precious moment with her friends._

 

~~~

 

            As neither Fenris nor Merrill knew exactly where Skyhold was, they made for the ruins of Haven. As a former site of pilgrimage, not to mention the Conclave that had ended so disastrously, it was fairly well sign-posted. Varric had mentioned an Inquisition outpost that had been re-established there, and they hoped to ask directions from there. They were still careful on the roads, keeping to the edges where they could. They did stop a few times at the inns of villages with an Inquisition presence, to get news and a warm bed for the night. It was at the second of these that they heard of the great battle that had taken place in the southern Arbor Wilds of Orlais. It had been a victory for the Inquisition, though Corypheus had escaped. They did not see any more Fade rifts, though they passed several areas that spoke clearly of a recent demon presence: piles of ashes, broken trees, and a tang in the air that Merrill always associated with demons.

One night, as they were sitting around their camp, they saw eerie green lights and flashes in the sky to the West. It made Merrill’s skin prickle. At the end of it, they felt a tremor, faintly, as though of an earthquake far away. Then there remained only a pale glow on the horizon.

“What was all that about,” asked Fenris. Merrill had no answer.

They found out the next day, as they passed by an Inquisition encampment that was all abuzz with excitement. “The Inquisitor has defeated Corypheus at Haven,” a scout told them, excited. “The war is over! We are sending the news to all corners of Thedas.”

So Hawke’s sacrifice had not been in vain, at least, if it had saved the Inquisitor who had brought them peace.

“This is good,” she said to Fenris as they carried on their way, “With Corypheus gone, the Inquisitor will more likely be able to help us.”

“If she _can_ help,” said Fenris.

“You’ve come all this way doubting whether we can get Hawke back or not?” asked Merrill.

“I’ve come all this way _hoping_ that we can. That doesn’t mean it will happen, but let’s just say Hawke’s endless optimism has worn off on me.” This he said with a wry half-smile.

Now that they were in Inquisition-controlled territory, they could travel more openly, and they made good time up to the foothills of the Frostbacks. However, at a small town on the edge of the mountain pass that led to Haven, they were intercepted by a patrol.

“The pass is blocked off. There was an avalanche caused by all that earthshaking up in Haven,” said the leader of the group. Fenris relaxed the combat-ready posture he had adopted when they had been hailed. They had not recognized the soldiers’ Inquisition uniforms until they got closer and saw the sword-eye insignia on their breastplates. “We’ve got people working to clear it, but it’ll be at least a week until it’s safe to go through. Where are you folks headed?”

“We’re going to Skyhold,” said Merrill, seeing no reason to lie. “We’re friends of Varric Tethras.”

The soldier seemed slightly skeptical, but he let them send a message to Varric with one of the Inquisition’s ravens, and then they took a room at the little inn in the village.

They both of them spent a restless week, with nothing to do but wait. They roamed the surrounding area, Merrill collecting what herbs were growing this early in the season. She found a reasonable quantity of elfroot, and was able to refill her stock of healing potions, at least, so the time was not completely wasted.

A reply came from Varric on the second day. “I can’t believe you didn’t write me sooner that you were coming, Daisy,” he’d written, and “Follow the pass north-east out of Haven. There are Inquisition scouts along the route if you get lost. Please don’t get lost, Daisy. It will be good to see you again. And Broody, too, I guess.”

Fenris snorted reading that last part.

“Aww, don’t worry Fenris, he really does like you.”

“Unfortunately so, or he wouldn’t have written about me in that damned book of his. I cannot say I like having my life on display for all the world to know about.”

“But nobody believes half of that book,” said Merrill. She was privately grateful to Varric. He had been kind to her in that book, writing about her troubles as little mistakes, instead of a lifelong stupidity and stubborn streak that had caused a world of grief for her and those around her. Hawke had felt the same way. “At least he writes about the dumb stuff I did as if I meant to do it, as part of my great plan for saving Kirkwall, and not as if I was making it all up as I went along,” she’d told Merrill on first reading the book.

At last, the pass was cleared enough to travel through. They left early and reached Haven by sunset, in time to watch the orange light of the setting sun dancing through the blue and green scar in the sky that was all that was left of the Breach. As the sun disappeared entirely, the entire valley stayed lit in those subtly shifting lights. By their glow, they could clearly see the destruction that had been wrought thrice over on the area. Shattered stones, burnt-out buildings, scraps of clothing and armor scattered everywhere. And still there was a functioning encampment in what was left of the city of Haven itself, where they stayed the night. From there, it was another three days, through cold and winding mountain paths, until they rounded a corner and all at once, there was the Inquisition banner flying over top of a fortress the likes of which Merrill could never have imagined. They had made it to Skyhold. 


	7. Chapter 7

Skyhold had been built right on the edge of a cliff-face, into the stone of the mountain itself. To access it, one had to enter through the first gate, cross the causeway, and pass through a second gateway. There were guards posted only at the first, and they let Merrill and Fenris through with only a cursory glance.

“Either they are imbeciles or they have been told to expect us,” said Fenris in an undertone as they crossed.

“Varric probably told them,” said Merrill absently. She was peering with interest over the side of the bridge. It was a sheer drop down to the river running between rocky banks still covered in snow, far, far below. She swallowed. The height was enough to make anyone a little queasy.

“Oh! It’s certainly a long way down! I wouldn’t like to cross in a snowstorm.”

She turned her attention now to the fortress looming in from of them. The Inquisition’s stronghold seemed big enough to be a small town. Indeed, it appeared to be so, as crossing under the second gateway revealed a courtyard busy with all kinds of people running here and there. Some wore the familiar Inquisition uniform, of soldiers or scouts, while others wore plain clothes, and still others wore the gaudy assortments of frills and ruffles that passed for the highest of fashion in Orlais. Over to the right, she could see market stalls, covered in everything from food to weapons, and beyond that, an enormous stable. The two elves hovered for a moment just inside the gate, simply taking it all in, before weaving their way across the courtyard, and up the staircase to the next level of the fortress, where they found a second courtyard, this one dominated by a tavern named _The Herald’s Rest_. Merrill looked at Fenris, who shrugged. “It seems as likely a place as any to find Varric,” he said, even though it was the middle of the morning.

They entered the dimly lit building. It was fairly quiet at this time of day, with only a handful of patrons speaking softly at tables, and a faint musical twanging from the corner, where a bard tuned her instrument. Once her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Merrill peered carefully around, but she couldn’t spot the blond dwarf.

“Let’s try upstairs,” she suggested to Fenris, and together they wove their way around the tables to the stairs. They hadn’t made it halfway there before they were stopped by a young man. That was what Merrill supposed him to be at any rate; it was hard to tell from underneath the enormous, wide-brimmed hat he wore.

“So long without seeing, friends still friendly, words won’t come,” he half-mumbled this so fast Merrill could hardly follow, trailed off, then spoke in a stronger voice, “….No, that’s not right. I have to do this the right way. I’m Cole. You’re Varric’s friends. He’s my friend too. I can take you to him.” He raised his head slightly to meet Merrill’s eyes, his pale-grey in a pallid face.

“Nice to meet you, Cole,” said Merrill, recovering quickly. There was something curious about this person, in more than just his appearance and odd manner of speaking, but she sensed he was not threat.

Cole ducked his head again, and turned, “This way.” Merrill exchanged a quick look with Fenris, who raised his eyebrows, but gestured for her to precede him. They followed Cole back out of the tavern, through the courtyard, and up another set of stairs to the entrance to the castle proper. The hall they entered definitely deserved the title of great hall. Several fire places lined the walls, surrounded by tables, and chairs. Rich carpets covered the floors and light filtered in from the outside through stained-glass windows inlaid with the Inquisition’s symbol. The hangings on the walls, however, had a distinctly Dalish flavour to their patterns and textures. The Inquisitor’s own personal touch, perhaps. There was a quiet background hum as the occupants of the hall- again an assortment of guards, commoners, and nobles- spoke amongst themselves. Cole led them to one of the tables by the fire, where a familiar dwarf was seated, scribbling industrially on a sheet of paper, while dozens of other such sheets were scattered across the table. Varric look up as Cole approached him. “Hey, kid. What’s up?”

“I found your friends,” said Cole solemnly, and Varric’s gaze shifted past the young man to where Merrill and Fenris stood.

“Daisy! Broody!” he stood up, a grin across his face.

“Varric!” said Merrill, and rushed forwards to give him a big hug. “How are you?” she asked, pulling back, and searching his face. He’d broken his nose somehow since the last time she’d seen him, and the scar gave a bit of a crooked look to his face.

“Oh, you know, just helped save the world from an ancient Darkspawn magister, so I’m doing just dandy. But, shit, Daisy, it’s good to see you. It’s been so long. Don’t suppose I get a hug from you, too, Broody?” he added to Fenris over Merrill’s shoulder.

“Ha. I’d like to see you try,” said Fenris, but in what passed for him as a good-natured tone.

“Still living up to your nickname as always, I see. C’mon, sit down. You must be thirsty- it’s quite the hike up to Skyhold. I’ve done it enough to know.” He poured them each a glass of watered-down wine from a decanter on the table, and together they sat. Merrill looked around for Cole, but he’d vanished as quickly as he’d arrived.

“Where did he go?” she asked.

“Who? Oh, Cole? He’ll be around. He’s a little odd, but he’s a good kid. Heart’s in the right place. So,” he continued, “you didn’t say in your letter. What brings the two of you up here? Come to bask in the Inquisitor’s glory?”

“Not quite,” said Fenris.

“We do need her help, though,” said Merrill, “Or, at least, we hope she can help. Or might know someone who can. We’re going to get Hawke back, Varric.”

A shadow passed briefly across Varric’s face, as if he’d been expecting and dreading something like this, “Shit, Daisy, I-” he began

“Hullo, Varric. Who are your friends?” came a new voice over their shoulders.

They turned to face the newcomer, and were met with a lithe elf, a little older than Merrill, perhaps, with short, mahogany hair.

“Ah, Inquisitor!” said Varric, recovering his good cheer with seemingly little effort, though Merrill knew him well enough by now to see the mask that had snapped into place. “Meet Merrill and Fenris. They’re friends from Kirkwall. This is Lady Elyra Lavellan,” he added for their benefit.

“A pleasure,” said Lavellan, nodding to each of them in turn.

So this was the Inquisitor. Merrill studied her with interest. She had a kind, open face, covered in freckles and the pale, branching _vallaslin_ of Elgar’nan. A thin, angry scar, recent from the look of it, ran from ear to chin on one cheek, and the careful way she held herself and moved hinted at other healing injuries that were less obvious. From the final battle with Corypheus, most likely.

“Lady Lavellan,” said Merrill, jumping to her feet. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you. Well, rumour mostly. And some from Varric. Just about everyone’s talking about you. That is, well, I suppose that makes sense, what with you saving the world and all.” Oh dear, she was rambling. She’d thought that she’d mostly shaken that particular habit. But here was the woman whom she’d come to petition for help, and meeting her quite so soon was rather unexpected.

The Inquisitor didn’t seem bothered at all, however, and just smiled. “Please, _lethallin_ , call me Elyra. I’ve heard quite a bit about you, too, Merrill. It will be nice to find out how accurate those things were,” she laughed. “Will you be staying at Skyhold long?”

“I…that is… it depends. I know you don’t know us, but we’d hoped to ask for your help.”

“Any friends of Varric’s are friends of mine. Please, ask.”

“It’s… about Hawke. We’re looking for a way to get her back. I don’t know if it’s possible, but if anyone can do it, it would be the Inquisition.”

Lavellan’s face fell into solemnness at the mention of Hawke. “I am so sorry for what happened. I owe Hawke my life. If there is any way to get her back, to repay that debt, I will help you find it,” she said earnestly. She was silent for a moment, “I have a meeting soon, but dine with me tonight, and we will talk further then. Until then, I’ll leave you in Varric’s capable hands.”

Merrill barely had time to get out a “Thank you” before, with a brief bow, she was gone, striding across the hall to a door on the far side.

“So that’s the Inquisitor,” said Fenris. “She’s certainly something.”

“You can say that again,” said Merrill.  


	8. Chapter 8

“Well then, how would you like the grand tour of Skyhold?” asked Varric, after the Inquisitor had left them. 

“Oh, yes please, Varric!” said Merrill, who felt she needed something to distract her, and thought a tour of a place as big as the Inquisition’s fortress would do the trick, “This place is so big and exciting. And you must introduce us to everyone.”

“You coming, Broody?”

“Of course,” said Fenris.

They followed Varric out of the hall, and back down the steps of the castle.

“It’s a big place, so I thought we could start with the stables and work our way around,” said Varric over his shoulder. His good mood was firmly back in place now, though Merrill suspected he was as grateful as she for the distraction. As they walked, he told stories about the people of Skyhold and the work that had been done to the stronghold since their arrival. In true Varric style, he seemed to know almost everyone around the place, and they were constantly stopping to be introduced to this merchant or that soldier. There seemed to be almost every kind of person present at Skyhold. They met all kinds of humans, from mages and Templars to simple farmers and craftsmen; elves, mostly city, but a few Dalish as well; and dwarves from all over. 

When they got down to the stables, Merrill was delighted by the assortment of steeds that the Inquisition kept. They had not only horses of all kinds, but also the ferocious dracolisks, bizarre battle-nugs, and magnificent harts that took Merrill’s breath away. The stable-master, a Ferelden man named Dennet, introduced a lovely roan hart with a stunning rack of antlers as the Inquisitor’s favourite mount, and let Merrill stroke its nose. Fenris, never very fond of horses, hung back, but spoke quietly to one of the stable-hands, asking questions about the functioning of the stables and the general state of the Inquisition’s stables. 

In a far corner of the stables, there was a carpenter’s worktable, covered in tools, pieces of wood, and half-finished carvings, most of which appeared to have wings. A bearded man in padded under armor sat whittling beside it. Varric introduced him as “Blac- I mean, Thom Rainier.” It was unlike Varric to stumble over a name, and Merrill wondered at it.

“Friends of yours, Varric?” he asked in a gruff voice. Merrill and Fenris introduced themselves, and they spoke for a time. She liked Rainier well enough, though she thought he seemed a bit sad.

“He’s leaving Skyhold soon,” Varric explained when she mentioned it as they moved on. “He has some people from his past he needs to track down. I can tell you all the juicy details later, but boy was the Inquisitor angry when it all came to light. Between her and Curly, the air was practically on fire around here for a week! I’m not sure the Commander’s really happy that she forgave him. He’ll come around, though, in time.” Varric sighed, “It seems like everyone’s leaving now. I’ll be going back to Kirkwall sooner or later. Not til I’ve seen what you’re up to first, of course, Daisy,” he added with a sidelong glance at Merrill.

They passed the main gates, and followed the same path Merrill and Fenris had taken earlier to the tavern. But instead of going in as before (“Later,” said Varric, “You both owe me a game of Wicked Grace.”), they rounded the corner into a practice yard fitted with stuffed dummies and archery targets. Quite a number of people were in the yard, either practicing alone or in groups, but Varric led them towards where a woman with short, dark hair faced off against an enormous, horned Qunari. If Merrill hadn’t already heard about the Iron Bull, she would have shouted in fright. As it was, she still followed behind Varric a little nervously. 

“Seeker! Tiny!” called Varric as they approached. “Look who showed up today!” 

The two opponents took a step back, nodded to each other, and each sheathed their weapons. Then the woman turned towards Varric, and the two elves who trailed behind him. Her eyes narrowed, then widened in recognition. 

“You are Hawke’s friends. Merrill and Fenris, yes? My name is Cassandra Pentaghast. It is an honour to meet you.”

“You’re the Seeker that Varric told us about?” asked Merrill. She had heard, in great detail, the lengths Varric had gone to prevent this woman from finding Hawke (something she would ever be grateful for) but also that this was the woman who had helped found the Inquisition. And so she approached the Seeker with a certain combination of wariness and respect.

“That’s right. But we’ve worked things out now, haven’t we, Cassandra?” said Varric, with a wink. 

“We have reached a...certain amount of understanding,” she replied.

The Iron Bull, who had been quietly watching up until this point, laughed suddenly, “She means that she can’t wait to read those crappy romance serials he writes every month.”

Cassandra went a little pink. “I’ll thank you to not share that with everyone we meet, Bull,” she said dryly. 

“What? People need to know you’re not just some scary-ass demon-killing lady. I’m just helping out your image.” 

“My image is fine, thank you.”

“So, you’re that Hawke woman’s lover, huh?” said Bull, turning to Merrill.

Something about the way he said it meant it was Merrill’s turn to blush. “I...that is...yes.”

“Nasty business at Adamant. All that Fade and demon crap. Glad I stayed outside,” he shuddered.

“Merrill’s got some idea of rescuing Hawke,” put in Varric.

“Good. I liked her. Count me in, but no weird Fade-shit,” said Bull.

“Thank you,” said Merrill quietly. She was beginning to like this Qunari; he wasn’t nearly as intimidating as he at first appeared.

“Rescue her?” said Cassandra, voice incredulous, “But how?”

“The Inquisitor said she would help us,” said Fenris, speaking up for the first time. 

“Hey,” said Bull, “You’re that ‘Vint elf Varric told us about. My lieutenant’s a Vint, you two should meet, chat about Vint-y stuff. Yo, Krem!” he called across the training yard, his deep voice suddenly pitched much louder, the sort of voice that could carry across battlefields with ease.

“What is it, Chief?” came the reply from where a heavily armored figure swung a monstrous maul against a reinforced training dummy.

“Got Varric’s ‘Vint friend here; come say hello.”

“Right you are, Chief.”

A moment later the one Bull had called Krem had joined them. Leaning his maul against the fortress wall, he removed his helmet to reveal a passingly handsome, dark-haired man in his thirties.   
“Krem, Fenris. Fenris, Krem,” said Varric.

“Cremisius Aclassi, but Krem’s fine. Nice to meet someone else from back home who’s not a mage or trying to kill me, or both,” said Krem.

“I could say the same,” said Fenris, looking him up and down, and appearing to at least not disapprove. 

“Say, that’s a broadsword, isn’t it?” said Krem, gesturing to the massive sword still strapped to Fenris’s back. “I never could manage the balance on those, I much prefer the maul, though it gets a little unwieldy sometimes.” 

“The broadsword has its merits, but I could say the same. Would you care to match them against each other?” asked Fenris, stepping forward.

Krem looked momentarily taken aback. “Sure. How ‘bout over there, out of the way. That alright with you, Chief?” 

“Go ahead, Krem. Knock him flat,” said Bull with a grin, and then, when they were out of earshot, “Knew they’d get along.” 

“Did you now?” said Cassandra.

“I almost want to watch now, to see if he does,” said Varric. “But I’ve got one more person to introduce to you, and I want to do it while Fenris isn’t around. C’mon Daisy. See you later Seeker. Bull.”

They left Cassandra and Iron Bull to watch the match between Fenris and Krem, who seemed at least to be holding his own against the elf. Merrill skipped to catch up with Varric, and then asked, “Why are we leaving Fenris behind, Varric?”

“Because he and Dorian would get along like the shittiest days in Darktown. Sparkler’s from Tevinter as well, but he’s a mage. Nicest ‘Vint mage I’ve ever met, true, but I don’t think that’ll mean much to Fenris.”

“Oh, I see,” said Merrill. The phrase “Tevinter mage” reminded her of many horrible people they’d met in Kirkwall, but if Varric was friends with this Dorian, then he must be much nicer. One thing you could always trust Varric on was his sense about people.

They re-entered the Keep, and passed through a side-door into a round hall decorated with bright paintings in a style that drew the eye and made Merrill pledge to go back later and examine them. Another doorway led them to a staircase that they followed up to the second floor, and the most beautiful library Merrill had ever seen. They approached a window alcove, where a young man with an impressive mustache, and a robe with far more belts than seemed necessary, sat reading. 

“Hey, Sparkler, I have a friend I want you to meet.”

“Does it have to be now, Varric?” drawled the man absently, “I’m just getting to an interesting part. And there aren’t many of those in this horribly dry book. But alas, it is one of very few writings on the topic. Very well, I’ll meet your friend, Varric,” the man sighed, and looked up, “Oh, hello, who’s this?” He spoke as if he hadn’t been expecting Varric’s friend to be right there. 

“I’m Merrill. Hawke and Varric’s friend.”

“Dorian of House Pavus,” he replied, rising to his feet, “Forgive my manners, I think the dust of this awful book got into my brain.”

“Merrill’s a Dalish mage, Dorian,” said Varric.

“Are you really?” He brightened. “You know, I have so many questions about the Dalish take on magic, and the Inquisitor’s been most accommodating, but she can only answer so much, what with not actually being a mage. And that girl in the Chargers is always insisting she isn’t a mage, when one clearly does not need focus crystals for archery.”

“Well,” said Merrill, “I’d be happy to answer anything you’d like to know.”

“Oh, that would be splendid! Just let me get my notes,” he dove for a pile of papers on a nearby table.

“Hold up, Sparkler,” said Varric, “Merrill isn’t just here to satisfy your curiosity. She going to try and get Hawke back from the Fade.”

Dorian halted. “Is she really? And how do you plan to do that? That Rift was sealed ages ago.”

“I don’t know yet, but the Inquisitor has promised to help,” said Merrill.

“I was hoping you’d have some ideas, since you’re our resident Fade expert now Chuckles is gone. You two should work together.”

“A year ago I would have told you it was impossible. But now, with all the things we’ve seen... we certainly might have a go at it.”

“Thanks, Sparkler,” said Varric. “We’ve got dinner with the Inquisitor in a bit, but I can leave you two together to talk about mage shit until then. Alright, Daisy?” 

Merrill nodded. She had to admit, Dorian’s enthusiasm was catching.

“I’ll see you later, Varric.”

“Good,” said Dorian. “Now, what are your thoughts so far....”

They spent an enjoyable hour or so trading ideas. Dorian’s magical background was much different to Merrill’s. His was more regimented, more set in certain methods and pathways, but he surprised her with his openness to new ideas, and ability to look at magic and the Fade in different ways. The time passed quickly, and before she knew it, Varric was back, and they were off to the Inquisitor’s personal chambers.


	9. Chapter 9

_It’s been more than a year, and Merrill’s still uncertain about whether moving in with Hawke was a good decision. It’s not the neighbours’ gossip she minds (she and Hawke like to laugh about that), nor does she regret being with Hawke- she could never regret that! It’s just something about the cold stone of the house, the careful symmetry of the decorations, and the lack of any plant life, save Bodahn’s vegetable garden out back, that makes her feel like she could never call this place home. It’s that, along with the Eluvian, still not complete after all this time, which keeps her going back to her house in the alienage. She knows Hawke watches her when she thinks Merrill isn’t looking, worried that she isn’t happy, and to a certain extent she is right. Merrill tells herself she’ll get used to it, that eventually she’ll start thinking of Hawke’s home as her own, and that one day she will get this accursed mirror fixed, and then, finally, she can be happy. To sustain herself, she has to take the little moments as they come- Hawke’s gentle touch, the thrill of standing side by side in battle, the surge of love and pride when she remembers that Hawke is actually hers to call_ vhenan _._

_“Merrill, I have something to show you,” says Hawke one day as Merrill returns from another fruitless session with the Eluvian. “It’s a little project I’ve been working on that I hope you’ll like.”_

_Merrill smiles, with only a little more effort than usual, “Oh, Hawke, I’m sure it’s wonderful, whatever it is.”_

_She follows Hawke upstairs, and along a corridor to the little curving staircase that leads to the roof. Merrill hasn’t been here since Hawke moved in and gave them all the grand tour. Then, there had been nothing beyond cracked tiles and a few stray weeds. Now, as she comes out under the bright sunlight, she gasps. Somehow, Hawke has transformed the place. An elegant banister lines the edges of the flat roof, and ivy curls along it. In each corner is a cluster of potted plants containing everything from elfroot and spindleweed to bushes and little trees. In the centre is a flowerbed filled with, yes, daisies, as well as half a dozen other species, but with room for more._

_“Oh, Hawke,” breathes Merrill._

_“Do you like it?” asks Hawke._

_“Is this for me?”_

_Hawke shifts, “Well, I thought you might like a garden of your own, since Bodahn has monopoly on the kitchen garden, and this seemed like a nice place for one. I’m afraid I don’t know a lot about gardening, so it might not all be right. But I wanted to do this for you myself.”_

_By herself? All this must have taken her all summer to put together._

_“It’s perfect,_ vhenan _!”_

_“Oh, good, because I was worried that-” she is interrupted by a kiss from Merrill._

_“I love you,” whispers Merrill._

_This place might not be home yet, but it feels more and more like it will be soon._

~~~

 

“Merrill,” said Varric as they walked up to the Inquisitor’s quarters, and it was rare enough that he called her by name that she was immediately listening. “I want you to know, when you meet the Inquisitor again, don’t ask her about her clan. She, ah, lost them all a little while back, and it’s not been easy for her. She hides it well, I just don’t think she’d want too many reminders.”

“Oh no! That’s horrible! What happened to them, Varric?”

“Some humans up in Wycome got it into their heads that elves were at fault for a disease that was spreading around. Clan Lavellan was the scapegoat. They killed every one of them. I’d never seen the Inquisitor so distraught. That’s wasn’t long after Adamant, either. How she keeps up that good humor I’ll never know.”

“Don’t worry, Varric, I won’t say a thing,” said Merrill. How horrible to lose one’s entire clan! It had been bad enough to be exiled, but at least she had known they were still alive. Merrill remembered the pain of losing Marethari, and then tried to imagine feeling that for everyone all at once. Her heart went out to the Inquisitor. But she would follow Lavellan’s lead on the topic of the Dalish.

Coming up the stairs to the Inquisitor’s rooms, they met with Fenris and Krem just outside the doors. Neither looked any the worse from their fight earlier, and were talking quietly in Tevene to each other.

“Gentlemen!” said Varric as they approached, “How was your contest?”

“Excellent,” said Krem good-naturedly, “It was a close match, but Fenris here beat me in the end.”

“Remind me to get Bull to pay up later,” Varric grinned.

“When did you have time to take bets?” asked Fenris.

“I have my ways,” said Varric.

“I’d better let you get on,” said Krem to Fenris. “Drinks in the tavern tomorrow? It’s on me.”

“Certainly,” said Fenris.

They watched Krem walk away. “Seems like you two got along,” Varric remarked.

Fenris shrugged. “I like him,” he said simply.

The door behind them opened, and the Inquisitor poked her head out. “Are you lot just going to stand outside my door forever or were you ever going to knock?”

“Sorry, your Inquisitorialness,” said Varric. “Broody here was just making a new friend.”

Lavellan held the door open and gestured for them to come through. Her chambers were large and richly decorated, though here the Dalish influence was much more apparent than in the rest of Skyhold. Both rugs and hangings were made of Dalish fabrics and depicted halla, aravels, and Elven gods, among other things. The magnificent bed was a four-poster in an Orlesian style, but it too had carvings of halla along its sides. In one corner was a desk and several shelves of books, where the Inquisitor clearly spent a great deal of time, judging by the papers and pens scattered across it. On three sides of the room were great, tall windows, with doors that led onto balconies that offered a breathtaking view of the surrounding mountains. By one of these windows, a low table in the Dalish style was set up, with seating cushions around its edges, and covered in a vast array of food. Merrill suddenly realized how long it had been since she had last eaten.

“I eat in my chambers most days,” explained Lavellan for the benefit of Merrill and Fenris, “All those people watching me down in the great hall rather puts me off my food. The nobles especially,” she put on a remarkably accurate, though heavy, Orlesian accent, “Zees knife-ear, I thought she would eat only elfroot. I guess ze ‘erald of Andraste must ‘ave learned to be ceevilized.” She laughed.

“It’s uncanny how you do that,” muttered Varric.

They sat down at the table, and Lavellan began dishing out the food.

“I’ve always had a good ear for accents. You might have noticed I don’t sound very Dalish,” she said to Merrill, handing her a plate piled high with all manner of bread, meat, fruit, and cheese.

“I had wondered,” admitted Merrill.

“It throws the humans off, when a Dalish elf sounds like a posh Free Marcher. Works wonders for getting the best bargains when you’re trading with them. I was always the spokesperson for my clan. It’s why I was sent to the Conclave in the first place. I actually speak like this,” she said, suddenly in the lilting tones of the Dalish. She passed a plate of food to Fenris, and carried on in the same accent, “I keep the Marcher accent most of the time in public, now, as part of my Inquisitor role. It’s nice to slip back into my normal speech in private.”

“Does it not get wearing?” asked Fenris.

She shrugged, “Sometimes. But it helps me separate business from pleasure.”

She served Varric, and then herself, and together they dug in.

The spent most of the meal listening to Varric and Lavellan telling stories that went back and forth between them, of some of the more ridiculous escapades of the Inquisition. Merrill and Fenris were content to listen, laugh when required, and simply enjoy the food, taking particular pleasure in having something that was not roasted on a spit over a campfire.

At one point, a man poked his head around the door of Lavellan’s chambers. It took a moment for Merrill to place him as Knight-Commander Cullen of Kirkwall. He looked less haggard and run-down than the last time she had seen him.

“Elyra, I- Oh, I see you have company. I will come back at a later time, Inquisitor.”

“I’m sorry, Cullen, I sent you a note that I was having guests, but it must have gotten lost. I suspect Sera. Was it pressing business?”

“No, no, just a few reports that need signing before tomorrow. I can return later.”

“Commander, you remember Merrill and Fenris,” said Varric

“Who could ever forget any of Hawke’s companions,” said Cullen with a hint of humour.

  
“Curly and the Inquisitor’s affair is the worst-kept secret in all of Skyhold,” Varric continued.

Cullen went a deep shade of pink, “I…that is…is it really?”

“Well, what do you expect, with the two of you making out on the battlements all the time for all the world to see?”

Lavellan seemed unperturbed. “We do make a lovely couple,” she said, grinning, “Why should we hide it?”

Cullen spluttered for a bit longer, before retreating from the room.

“I will see you later, my dear,” called Lavellan after him cheerfully, “I love him dearly, but he gets terribly awkward when the topic of us gets brought up in company,” she confessed to Merrill.

“I think it’s very sweet,” said Merrill. She hadn’t been overly fond of Cullen, but he had turned a blind eye to her being a mage and sauntering freely around Kirkwall in Hawke’s wake. Or maybe he’d never noticed. And as Varric had told her how hard he worked for the Inquisition, she found her opinion of him improved, and was happy for him and Lavellan.

They returned to their meal and finished it in short order. Lavellan sat back, and suddenly she was the Inquisitor again, serious and intent. “Now, _lethallin_ , about Hawke- I said I will help you and I will. It is just a matter of how. Our resident Fade expert has vanished without a trace, as has our arcane advisor. Madame Vivienne has gone to Val Royeaux, though in a pinch I might write to her. I am no mage, though I had studied magical theory and Rifts extensively. Between myself, you, and Dorian, we stand a good chance of coming up with a working plan. What do you say?”

“Oh, thank you!” said Merrill, “I think, from what I know, that we might need to be physically closer to where the Rift was, to get to the right place in the Fade.”

“That was my thought as well,” said the Inquisitor, “I think it will just be matter of figuring out exactly where, and then I ought to be able to tear through the Veil with my Mark. Though that will also require careful planning, as its energies can be a trifle unpredictable. If a journey is required, however, it will have to wait until my injuries have healed completely. The healers tell me I shouldn’t even be training for another week at least, or I risk no longer being able to draw my bow. I’m sorry that we cannot set out right away, but it will give us some time to research and prepare. If you like, I can give you some of my notes to read, to bring you up to speed on Rift magic.”

So it was that Merrill left the Inquisitor’s office with a pile of books and papers to sort through, and the promise that they would meet again tomorrow, for, said Lavellan, “I have some things to show you that I think might interest you greatly, _lethallin_.”

“I think,” said Fenris as they walked back down the stairs, “that I will not be much use to you until we leave Skyhold again.”

“That’s alright, Broody, you can play cards with me and train with the Chargers. We’ll keep you busy,” said Varric.

“They have a wonderful library, too, Fenris! And I’m sure it’s not just magical books,’ said Merrill.

“Hmm,” said Fenris.

Varric was all for going straight to the tavern, but Merrill and Fenris were both exhausted both from that day, and their long trek to Skyhold, and promised Varric they would join him tomorrow. Two rooms opposite each other had been prepared for them on an upper floor, and Varric showed them the way, and then bid them goodnight.

Left alone in the corridor, Merrill turned to Fenris, “We have a real chance to get Hawke back now, and I never would have got this far without you.”

Fenris shrugged, “Perhaps.”

“Goodnight, Fenris.”

“Goodnight, Merrill.”


	10. Chapter 10

Skyhold’s garden was beautiful. Merrill found her way there first thing in the morning, when the sky was still grey with pre-dawn, and very few people were about. She had woken surrounded by stone, and felt, suddenly, pressingly, the need for grass beneath her feet. After a few wrong turns, she was back in the great hall, and then she followed her nose until a pair of doors opened onto a vast courtyard overshadowed by trees great and small. In one corner she found the herb garden, and knelt down to take in the familiar scents of the plants.

Surrounded by greenery, she felt herself relaxing. The morning chorus of birds began in the trees above, and Merrill smiled at the sound. It seemed for now that she had the garden to herself, so she set out to explore it more thoroughly. The grounds were as large as any other part of the keep she had seen so far. Beside the herb garden, a sizable plot of land had been set aside for fruits and vegetables; it seemed that Skyhold could support itself to a certain extent without relying on imports. Merrill delighted to find a scrubby but ancient little tree growing winter apples, a fruit that never grew in the warmer climates to the north. She plucked one of the sweet fruits for her breakfast and sent a magical tendril of strength into the plant in thanks, then moved on. Other parts of the garden seemed to serve a more leisurely purpose, with benches along shaded paths and a pretty gazebo covered all over with vines. Her elf eyes could see easily in the dim light, and the dusky morning shadows gave her no trouble in examining the sculptures that lined the walkways. Some were tributes to Andraste, some depicted heroes from old tales, and still others - here her heart jumped - were very clearly Elvhen, of the kind one might see around an ancient temple, and occasionally in a well-established Dalish camp.

When the sky began to lighten, Merrill found a copse of trees that was especially to her liking, and settling by the trunk of one, took from her satchel the books the Inquisitor had given her. Around her, the keep awakened slowly, voices calling to each other, the rattle of armor as guards changed shifts, booted feet going past on early morning errands, but Merrill was heedless of it, engrossed in her reading.

“How can so many words say so little?” a soft voice startled her out of her concentration.

Merrill let out a surprised gasp, and whirled around. “Oh, you scared me! Cole, wasn’t it?” For it was the boy in the wide-brimmed hat who had led them to Varric. Then what he had said registered, “How did you know what I was thinking?”

He shrugged, “I was a spirit. Now I’m human; mostly. But I can still feel people’s hurt. Anxious and frustrated, seeking answers, but so much is still unknown.” He tilted his head, “You’re the hawk-lady’s special person. She was lost and you want to find her. But the books don’t tell you what you need them to.”

Merrill sighed, “No, they don’t.” She set the book aside, and looked Cole up and down, “You’re the one Varric calls “Kid”, then? He mentioned you in his letters. It’s very nice to meet you, Cole.”

“I like meeting Varric’s friends,” he replied. Then, abruptly. “The hawk missed you while she was here. She ached with it,” Suddenly, he was speaking in a passable imitation of Hawke’s voice “‘I can’t risk losing more family. I’m sorry, Merrill.’”

Merrill felt tears well in her eyes. “Stubborn woman. How could you?” she murmured. The sorrow and anger she had been determinedly repressing all the long journey south burst forth and before she knew it she was sobbing. Cole hesitantly put an awkward arm around her.

“Is this alright?” he asked with concern. “Varric says this helps.” Merrill nodded through her tears. He was a surprisingly comforting presence. After a little while, she collected herself, and wiped her eyes.

“Thank you, Cole.”

He seemed to know what else she wanted to say, because he nodded, and said seriously, “You are welcome. I hope you get your bird back. If you want my help, I will be here.”

She watched Cole slip away, seeming to blend into the shadows of the trees until he disappeared entirely. She rose to her feet and brushed off her clothes, then went to find the Inquisitor.

Since they had not actually arranged a time or place to meet, she thought it best to return to the great hall, which seemed to be the hub of goings-on at Skyhold. Unfortunately, she took a wrong turn, and found herself in a series of side passages at the opposite end of the garden to where she wanted to be. There were more people about now, and she begged directions off of a young scout who passed her. Set back on the correct path, she was following a corridor than ran parallel to the gardens when an odd feeling struck her. It was a faint, half-heard sound, almost a song, and it spoke to her strongly of magic. She moved towards a nearby door and the feeling grew stronger. She tried the handle, and found it locked. She looked furtively up and down the passage, and, seeing no one, she drew out her little kit of lockpicks and set to work. Isabela had taught her a thing or two in the time they had spent together in Kirkwall, and it wasn’t long before the tumbler clicked into place and she could turn the handle. Feeling immensely pleased with herself, if a little guilty, she poked her heard around the door.

“Oh, Creators!” she gasped. For there, up against the far wall, was the source of the magic she had felt- a beautiful, completely intact, and apparently active Eluvian.

She moved towards it, entranced. It was much larger than her broken one had been; the mirror part alone was almost twice her height. Though the glass appeared plain and flat, she could sense the energies ready to activate if only the key was provided.

“I see you beat me to it,” said a wry voice behind her. Merrill tore her gaze away, and turned to see Inquisitor Lavellan leaning in the door frame.

“You have an Eluvian! Wherever did you get it?! Is this what you wanted to show me?” A thousand other questions sprung to her mind, clamoring to spill forth. The first of which was, “Where does it lead?”

“Empress Celene’s arcane advisor, the Lady Morrigan, came to lend her assistance to the Inquisition, and brought this with her. Where she got it, and the lengths she went to in order to get it to work, only she knows. She left it when she departed about a week ago; I suppose it was of no more use to her. Or perhaps she wished to leave us with this final gift. As for where it leads- a place called the Crossroads. I can show you, if you like.”

“Oh, yes!” said Merrill. At long last she would have the answer to a question that had consumed her for years, and though after Marethari’s death she had turned her attention to other pursuits, still the pull of the ancient past had never quite faded.

Lavellan strode forward, and faced the Eluvian. “Luckily Morrigan gave the Inquisition control of this Eluvian before we left. If she had not, we would never have been able to open it again.” She touched the surface, and ripples of magic flared out until the entire mirror glowed with power. “Come on,” she said over her shoulder. Then she stepped forwards and disappeared _into_ the mirror. Merrill hastened to follow her. There was no discomfort, as she had expected. Instead, just a tingling sensation as the magic wrapped around her, and then she was someplace completely new.

It felt like the Fade, but at the same time, very much not. They were standing in what seemed to be a courtyard, paved but overgrown slightly, with statues and strange trees, and all around, more Eluvians. Most were dark, but one or two shone with the swirling magic she had seen before. Everything looked so strange, but somehow it felt _right_ , like it was a place she was meant to be.

“Isn’t it amazing?” asked Lavellan, a smile breaking out onto her face. She had slipped back into Dalish tones. “This is how the ancient Elvhen travelled. The Eluvians are all linked by paths in this between place. These paths- our ancestors trod them, _lethallin_!”

“I –” Merrill was speechless. All she could do was look around in wonder. Elyra seemed to understand, and strode a few paces away to give her some time to process. Merrill put a hand on one of the strange white trees. It seemed to speak to her, though not in any language she could understand. This whole place was full of memories, whispers, pathways. “Our ancestors trod these paths,” she whispered, echoing Elyra’s words. Her thoughts whirled as she paced the area, taking everything in. Colours seemed brighter here than in the real world, but there was also the sense of fading, as if this place would one day crumble into nothingness. At last, she turned back to the other elf.

“Have you travelled anywhere from here?” she asked.

“Not from here, exactly,” said Elyra, coming forward, “But to here from elsewhere. Come, let’s return to Skyhold and I will explain everything. Don’t worry, you can come back if you like.”

They stepped back through the Eluvian, and Merrill followed Lavellan through the Keep’s winding passageways to the rotunda beneath the library, where the gorgeous paintings that had caught her eye before went all around the room, save for one blank space. Lavellan sat heavily at a table along one wall, and stared balefully for a moment at the blank space, before gesturing to the paintings, and saying, “The story of the Inquisition, as depicted by our mysteriously vanished Fade expert. We clashed many times, but while he was here, he was a true ally, and a good friend.”

“They are beautiful paintings,” said Merrill, and thought that she would like to meet the one who had made them. They were in a style unlike anything she had seen before, but somehow she was reminded strongly of the Elven statues in the garden.

“They are,” Elyra agreed, before gesturing to the other chair. “Come, sit. I want to tell you what happened in the Arbor Wilds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This is kind of a landmark for me, making it to 10 chapters and over 15,000 words. That makes this the longest fanfiction I’ve ever physically written, and it’s far from being complete. So this seems like a good moment for me to thank you all for sticking with me this far. Every time I get a comment, kudos, or bookmark, it quite literally makes my day and encourages me to keep writing. I know updates have been sporadic, but I don’t intend to abandon this work, and I have the rough outlines ready for another seven chapters at the very least, so you can expect a resolution to this story eventually. I appreciate your patience and hope you enjoy the ride. 
> 
> Side note: If any of you are looking for a femHawke/Merrill playlist, I made this one a while back and sometimes I listen to it while I’m writing this: http://8tracks.com/arturia/from-here-to-forever :)


	11. Chapter 11

Merrill listened raptly to the Inquisitor’s story, of how they had fought Corypheus’ troops in the jungles of the Arbor Wilds, of how they had followed him into the Temple of Mythal, watched him die and resurrect into the body of a Warden, and then how they had locked him out and chased Samson and his men through the Temple. She described the beauty of the Temple, with its rich mosaics and elegant architecture, how they had followed the rituals that the Elvhen of old would have performed to access the Temple, and how they had met the Temple’s ancient Sentinels. 

“You met actual, ancient Elvhen!” interjected Merrill at this point.

“Yes,” said Lavellan, a little sourly, “And they were not much interested in the state of our people. To them, it seems, we are nothing but shadows of what we once were. They consider modern elves to be _shemlen_. But still, we paid respect to Mythal and so they guided us through the Temple.”

She continued the story, relating the defeat of Samson and the discovery of the Well of Sorrows, and the circumstances that had led to Morrigan drinking from the ancient font of knowledge.

“It was her or me. No one else present would even consider it. I am not a Mage. I’m not sure I would have been able to adequately sort through the Well’s knowledge to get any information from it, let alone keep all of those voices in any semblance of order. Not to mention, being bound to Mythal’s service… In any case, Morrigan drank from the Well, and we escaped through the Eluvian behind it just ahead of Corypheus.”

“With such knowledge, we could have restored our people,” said Merrill, but there was no accusation in her voice. So much of Lavellan’s story was so momentous, she was having a hard time processing it. She knew it changed many things, about what she knew of their people, or thought she had known. The idea of this power going to a human, who would doubtless use it for selfish ends…Well, but the Inquisitor had made the decision she thought best at the time. While Merrill might have done differently had she been there, what was done was done. The best she could do now was sort through all of this new information and decide what to do with it.

“I thought so too,” said Lavellan, “but then I met Mythal.” She explained how Morrigan’s son had disappeared, how they had found him in the Fade at the side of a woman who was both Morrigan’s mother, Asha’bellanar, and what was left of the goddess Mythal.

“Asha’bellanar is Mythal!” gasped Merill. “Then I have also met her!” Briefly she related the events of her first meeting with Hawke, all those many years ago. “By the Dread Wolf,” she said wonderingly, “I have spoken with one of the Creators. And she is the reason I met Hawke.” She laughed. “I don’t…I don’t even know what to think!”

“Neither did I,” said Lavellan. “I still don’t. So much of what we thought we knew was wrong. But still, we have only fragments and half-truths to go on.” She stood, and began to pace, “I have learned so much, in my time as Inquisitor. I have gained so many pieces of the puzzle. I feel as if I am close to putting it all together. Like there is some link I am missing, some keystone, and if only I could find it, so much would make sense.” She ran a hand through her hair, “But I am a hunter, not a lore-keeper. My job was to listen to the wisdom of our Keeper, and now she is gone…” her voice faltered slightly, then regained its strength, “And I am the leader of the Inquisition, an organization that cannot be seen showing too much favoritism to elves.” She laughed bitterly, “I had to work to keep the Orlesian Empress on the Throne, after she burned the alienage in Halamshiral to the ground, all in the name of politics. Still,” she resumed her seat, “with Corypheus defeated, I may be able to divert some of the Inquisition’s resources to the People’s cause. But enough of my troubles. You need time to process all I have told you, and we should see if Dorian has come up with any ideas for safely getting us into the Fade and out again.”

~~~

He hadn’t. Not yet, anyway, though he seemed to have a few ideas on the best way to find out. The Inquisitor left them to put their heads together and attend to other matters. Merrill set aside all she had learned that day, and threw herself into the task at hand. They spent several days that way, pouring through tomes on magical theory both ancient and new, consulting with other mages in the Inquisition, and testing out some experimental spells. Merrill learned more about the Veil and all the exact details on how it worked in those few days of research than she had in nearly a lifetime of magical study. It was fascinating, and she could see it leading somewhere, but it was like wandering through an unfamiliar city without a map.

“Once you’re in there, I think we’ve found a way to track down Hawke. But what we need,” said Dorian in frustration, when Lavellan stopped by to ask how things were going, “is some sort of magical device to keep the Rift you make open and stable while you hop in, find Hawke, and hop out again. But what sort of device could do that, I have no idea.”

“Dagna might have a few ideas,” suggested the Inquisitor. “She’s been studying the traces of Fade we brought back with us from the Nightmare’s lair.”

“The Arcanist, of course!” Dorian slapped his palm to his forehead. “If there’s anyone who can work out how to do something completely mad, it’s Dagna.”

Dagna, as it turned out, was a dwarf with a talent for enchantment and a passion for magical research, and who spoke a mile a minute. Merrill liked her immediately. When they presented their dilemma to her, she did not frown or say she would try but didn’t have much hope of succeeding. Instead, what she said was:

“I thought you’d never ask! I’ve been working on this for months.” She bustled over to a desk laden with all manner of papers and strange instruments, and drew out a little metal box-shaped device, covered in runes and stones that glowed with enchantments.

“After Adamant, when you told me you couldn’t use the Anchor from _inside_ the Fade to get _out_ , I thought, well, what if it happens again and there isn’t some other Rift just hanging around- or summoned by enthralled Wardens, as the case may be- waiting for you to just dive right back through it. So I used what I knew about the Veil, and consulted with Solas. Or tried to, anyway. He knows a lot but he won’t always share. Got very cagey when I asked him if he’d ever considered how the Veil might have actually come to be there. I mean, there’s enough evidence to suggest that-”

“Dagna, please, the device,” interrupted Lavellan patiently.

“Oh, sorry, I was getting off topic again, wasn’t I. Ahem, yes, so. I built this! It works by curling Fade energy around the edges of the Rifts and back onto itself. Or it should, anyway. I haven’t actually tested it. It needs a magic source. It can run on lyrium, but it would have to be raw and that’s pretty dangerous, even if you’re a dwarf. A mage pouring a little of their mana into it as long as it needs to be powered would work best. Oh, and you can’t switch power sources and keep it working at the same time, so you’d have as much time in the Fade as whoever-it-is has mana. Make sense?”

“Dagna, you are brilliant, you know that?” said Lavellan.

“So, we can use this to find Hawke!” said Merrill, hardly daring to hope.

“Should work,” said Dagna, “Like I said, I haven’t tested it. If you want to find your friend, your best chance is to enter the Fade as close as possible to where you knew she was last.”

“Which means the Western Approach,” sighed Dorian, “And here I was hoping to never see that Maker-forsaken wasteland again.”

“Oh, you don’t have to come, Dorian,” said Merrill, “You’ve helped more than enough!”

“No, no, my dear, I simply must see this through. My pride will not allow anything else. Besides, someone must power that contraption of Dagna’s whilst you and the Inquisitor look for Ser Hawke.”

“Thank you, Dorian,” said Lavellan. “If I can arrange it, we should be able to leave the day after tomorrow.”

“And I’ll be coming too, of course,” said Dagna, “I did say I haven’t tested the device yet, didn’t I. I should do that. Before you try to use it. Because bad things might happen. But I need a Rift for testing, so field testing it will have to be. Oh, this is exciting, isn’t it!?”

“It is,” grinned Merrill. Finally, something fixed and firm. A plan and a way to get Hawke home. They would not fail. They couldn’t.

Merrill left to tell the news to Fenris and Varric.


	12. Chapter 12

_The trek up the hill, away from the burning city behind them, has been silent. Aveline and Varric had stayed behind to help restore order, but had strongly recommended Hawke leave “just for a while”. Bethany had returned to the other Wardens, and there are only four of them when they stop at the peak of the hill to rest. Hawke turns her back to them all, shoulders set, looking down at the flames that light the darkness of the encroaching night._

_It is Anders, hunched on a rock as if his whole body hurts, who breaks the silence._

_“Hawke-“_

_“I don’t want to hear it, Anders,” She doesn’t turn around, “I spared you because you were my friend. That doesn’t mean I forgive you.” She whirls around to face him, “You_ used _me, Anders! And now that’s_ my _city down there in chaos,” her voice breaks, and she falls silent. Merrill puts a gentle hand on her arm, and feels Hawke shaking. Fenris is a shadow in the darkness of the rocks, observing quietly- he has said all he wanted to on this subject. Anders just bows his head._

_“I will leave, then, if you will let me,” he says at last, “You need never see nor hear from me again.”_

_“Go,” says Hawke, voice flat._

_Without another word, Anders levers himself to his feet with his staff, and sets off into the night. Hawke stands stiff and still until he is out of sight, and then lets herself sink to the ground. Merrill follows her, and Fenris comes over to join them._

_“What do you plan to do?” he asks._

_“I…don’t know,” says Hawke numbly. “Go into hiding for a time, I suppose. Until Kirkwall has forgotten me, and the part I played in this night.” The continuation of that statement, ‘if they ever will’, goes unsaid._

_“Then I will follow you, for the time being,” says Fenris._

_Hawke doesn’t ask if Merrill will come. She doesn’t need to. At this point, they know each other well enough to know what the answer will be. Merrill cannot think of any place she would rather be than at Hawke’s side._

_Eventually, they gather themselves up, what remains of their little party, and together they too disappear into the night._

_~~~_

Dusk was approaching as Merrill crossed the courtyard and ducked into the Herald’s Rest. Sure enough, both Varric and Fenris were present, seated at a table with the Iron Bull, Krem, and a group of the Chargers, most of whom she knew by sight by now. It looked as if they were settling down for an evening of card games.

“Daisy, you’re just in time!” cried Varric when he saw her. “Pull up a chair and I’ll deal you in.”

Merrill slipped into the space between Fenris and the Charger known as Stiches. Krem was on Fenris’ other side, and the two were deep in conversation. Merrill was glad the two were getting along. Fenris had precious few friends, and Krem was someone he could speak his native tongue with but who didn’t bring forth the sour memories of the place. Plus he seemed to bring forth Fenris’ rarely-seen but keen sense of humor, judging by the quirking of his mouth as the two spoke.

“Varric,” said Merrill, as she took her seat, “We’ve found a way to get Hawke back. At least, it’s our best shot. We’re leaving for the Western Approach the day after tomorrow.”

Varric’s face lit up. “Well, there's some news I'm glad to hear! All the more reason to celebrate then! Drinks are on me tonight!” he called to the gathered group, who all let out a cheer.   

“Some of the Chargers have said they will accompany us,” said Fenris quietly to Merrill. “Orlais is still somewhat unstable, despite the work that the Inquisition has been doing. If we cannot be a small-enough group to pass unnoticed, then it is better to have greater numbers for protection,” he looked sideways at Merrill, “Whatever you have come up with, it had better work. Else you will feel the sting all the more when it fails for having gotten your hopes up.”

“I can’t do anything but hope, Fenris. We’ve come so far, I’m sure we can do it.”

His mouth quirked, “Normally your endless optimism is exhausting. In this case, though, I am glad for it. It will be good to see Hawke restored to us.”

Merrill returned the smile, “It will.”

The rest of the evening was a lively one. The Chargers had boundless energy, and an almost ridiculous tolerance for alcohol. They played multiple rounds of Wicked Grace, at Varric’s insistence, all while telling each other stories. Merrill was fascinated by the tales of the Charger’s exploits, told mostly by Krem, with interjections from the other at various points. He was a good story-teller; though he didn’t have Varric’s habit of embellishment, his straightforward style and cadence lent themselves well towards pulling in his audience. At one point, Merrill was pressed into telling a tale of her own, and found herself recounting the time she had taken a wrong turn in Kirkwall and nearly ended up part of a group of travelling entertainers. The Chargers were in such a state at that point that they were in tears of laughter by the time she was done.  

Later, when she made her way back to her room, her head was buzzing pleasantly and she was warm from the friendly and open company. It was a good way to end her time at Skyhold, she thought

 

~~~

 

The next day was a flurry of preparations. The Inquisitor in particular could be seen dashing to and fro, organizing the management of Skyhold in her absence. Merrill had very little packing to do, and spent most of the day in the kitchens helping to prepare food for the journey. In the evening, she and Fenris went down to the stables to choose mounts for the next day. Merrill picked a hart she liked almost immediately, a lovely pale creature that reminded her of its halla cousins. Fenris took longer to choose, but eventually settled on one of the unsettling lizard-like dracolisks, saying he would trust them more than the horses to keep their heads in battle.

The morning came far sooner than Merrill had expected it would. At dawn they assembled; Merrill and Fenris; Dorian (whom Fenris eyed warily but kept away from) on an elegant black gelding; the Iron Bull, Krem, and a dozen Chargers, all on assorted mounts; Dagna and Varric on stocky, sure-footed ponies; and of course the Inquisitor herself on her elegant roan hart. They would travel light, with only a handful of pack animals between them, though Dagna led a sturdy mare burdened with her equipment.

The Inquisitor’s advisors came to see them off. Merrill could see the Inquisitor saying her farewells to Cullen. In a few moments, they parted, and the Inquisitor strode over to her hart and mounted.

“Everyone ready? Alright, let’s move out.” And she lead the way out of Skyhold.


	13. Chapter 13

They made good time down the mountains, and into the forests of the Orlesian foothills. Their route would take them through the northern parts of the Dales, through the Orlesian Heartlands, past the head of Lake Celestine, and into the Western Approach. From there, they would use the research Dorian and Merrill had put together to determine the best place to activate Dagna’s device.

But first, the Dales. Merrill felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation at finally seeing the ancestral lands of her people. She knew, of course, that some parts of them were so ravaged by war as to be all but uninhabitable. In other parts, Orlesian farms, mines, towns, and villages dotted the landscape. But in places, it was wonderfully verdant, and with summer approaching, the forests would be at their best.

“Some of the trees there are so big, a giant couldn’t wrap their arms all around the trunk!” Lavellan told her as they rode. “And there are ancient elven ruins and statuary absolutely everywhere! The first time I went to the Emerald Graves, it felt like going home. A bit of a melancholy homecoming, granted, considering the fact that it’s an ancient graveyard, and site of our People’s ruin. But of all the places I have travelled, that was my favourite,” she sighed in wistful memory.

“Will we pass through it?” asked Merrill.

“Not unless you want to take a weeklong detour through dense forests. It’s a bit further south that our course takes us. Our path does go through a rather nice part of the forest though, if not as old and impressive, so I’m sure you’ll get your fill of trees by the time we’re done. Enjoy it while you can; the Western Approach is nothing but soul-sucking sand.”

She proceeded to recount the tale of the nightmarish time the Inquisition had spent in the unchanging desert landscape of the Hissing Wastes, tracking Venatori and visiting old dwarven ruins.

“And I had Varric and Dorian with me, and they did nothing but complain about the sand in their clothes and the eerie noises the _entire_ time. And then Bull had to go and wake up a sleeping dragon, which we then had to _fight_!”

“Hey, that was a good fight, Boss,” interjected Bull from where he rode between Dorian and Krem. “That dragon packed a punch _._ ”

“A punch that nearly got me killed, if you remember,” added Dorian, shuddering dramatically. “I ran out of health potions before we were even close to taking that thing down. I still have the scars.”  
“Yeah, but you didn’t die, did you, kadan? If you had, it would’ve spoiled my fun. Besides, those scars look awesome.” Bull made a motion with his head that might have been a wink, though with only one eye, it was hard to tell.

“It’s touching how much you care,” mumbled Dorian, though he had a small smirk on his face.  

“Well, I for one would be happy to never fight another dragon again,” said Lavellan cheerfully. “You can take on the next one by yourself, Bull.”

Their light-hearted banter made the journey go quickly. Merrill was reminded strongly of her time in Kirkwall with Hawke’s group. Like Hawke, Lavellan held everyone together, despite differences of background and opinion. Unlike Hawke’s group, there were very few serious arguments. Merrill supposed being united for a common cause made people lay aside their differences more readily. Or perhaps Hawke’s friends had just been more dysfunctional overall than most. That made her laugh, thinking about how strange their little party must have often seemed to people.

“Did I miss a joke, Daisy?” asked Varric

“Oh, no! I was just thinking about how odd all of Hawke’s friends are.”

“Speak for yourself. I am the epitome of normalcy.”

“Varric, you have a crossbow called Bianca, and a fanbase the size of a small country,” said Lavellan, “You are very far from normal.”

Varric had to concede the point.

In only a few more days they had reached the Dales. It was farmland at first, and in some of the fields they passed, they could see farmers tending to crops or herds of druffalo. Other farms seemed to be abandoned entirely, a casualty of the civil war that had recently plagued the area. Eventually, the farmland gave way to forests, and Merrill felt her heart lurch with joy. As Lavellan had said, they were some of the most beautiful forests she had ever seen. The leaves here seemed a brighter green than anywhere else, the foliage in the underbrush just as bright. And everywhere, traces of the ancient elves who had lived there. Here, the remains of a temple, there a series of sculptures depicting the Creators. And, dotted almost everywhere, in sizes large and small, were statues of wolves. It was strange to see so many, when they were an animal associated with Fen’harel. Perhaps they had had a different meaning to the ancients. When they retrieved Hawke, Merrill wanted to return here with her, and spend more time exploring these lands.

 

~~~

Almost a fortnight into their journey, they stayed the night at an Inquisition outpost.

“Watch yourself on the roads from here, Inquisitor,” the Lieutenant in charge of the place told her, “We’re had reports of some Venatori still active in the area.”

From there on out, they kept a closer eye than before on the roads ahead and behind them. Even so, they were caught off guard when the attack came.

It happened on a grey day, when the clouds were dark and foreboding. They were close to Lake Celestine at this point, and so a fog hung in the air as well, making visibility more difficult than usual. Sound was deadened, and so the first warning Merrill got that something was wrong was when the fireballs came out of the forest on either side of them.

“Ambush!” she heard Bull cry, and could just barely see his bulk sliding from his mount, and drawing his battle axe.

All around her, the sounds of clashing steel and crackling magic began to break the stillness. Merrill readied a spell, and quieted her mount, looking around. There! Up on the ridge, a spellbinder threw lightning down onto the group. Merrill threw up a barrier, and then slid to the ground, and reached deep into the earth. Up on the ridge, the mage suddenly stumbled, his ankles entwined by tree roots.

“The Dread Wolf take you!” Merrill cried, yanking the roots forward, and causing the man to fall to his knees.

“Nice one!” said Lavellan, coming up beside her. She had her bow in hand, and shot an arrow that took the mage in the shoulder. “Ah, this visibility is terrible! Got anything in your bag of tricks that can deal with this fog, _lethallin_?”

“Maybe,” she said, then tried something she’d only done once before, combining a Dispel with a wide-range Arcane bolt. It worked. The fog was swept away, though only in their immediate vicinity.

“Clever!” said Dorian over his shoulder from where he was flinging lightning spells at a group of Venatori soldiers. “I shall have to try that next time!” Before Merrill could reply, he was swept away by the flow of battle, leaving only Lavellan by her side.

“Let’s finish him off,” she said, drawing her daggers, and seemed to fade out of sight. It always impressed Merrill how rogues could do that without magic. Hawke had used the ability to sneak up on her friends on many occasions, just to get a laugh out of it. She caught sight of Lavellan again when she reappeared behind the spellbinder. Merrill cast a brief bolt of flame to distract him, and then Fade-stepped to where Lavellan was. She called up stones and more roots to smash into the mage, and together they broke through his shields and brought him down.

They looked around to assess the battle. The the others were holding their own, but another group of Venatori were approaching from the South.

“This is one of the biggest Venatori groups I’ve encountered,” said Lavellan, “Perhaps they are banding together to return to Tevinter now that their master is dead. In any case, we need to split them up.”

“We could let them chase us?” suggested Merrill, “We’re both Dalish; we can hold our own in these woods better than they can.”

“Right you are!” said Lavellan, and threw a grenade.

~~~

Ten minutes later, and they were still being chased through the forest.

“I’m starting to regret this slightly,” yelled Lavellan as they ran, occasionally sending projectiles at the pursuing Venatori. They’d managed to pick off a few so far, but the rest were relentless.

“I have an idea!” cried Merrill, who’d noticed what lay ahead. “Quick, up this tree!” Lavellan followed her as they nimbly clambered into the branches.

The Venatori were close enough behind them to see where they’d gone, and clustered at the bottom, just slightly out of easy arrow reach. Once again, Merrill reached into the ground, and _pulled_. The ground underneath the Venatori gave way, and crumbled, sending them over the cliff face she’s spotted and into the ravine below.

The two elves jumped down from the tree, and peered over the edge. The ravine was deep enough that it was unlikely anyone had survived the fall.  

“Well, that was fun,” said Lavellan, panting slightly. “Remind me to never get on your bad side, Merrill.” She swing her bow over her shoulder and looked around, “Now. Where are we?”

At that moment the rain that had been threatening all day at last gave way, thundering down in heavy sheets. They backtracked slightly, and ducked into the shelter of a cave they had run past earlier.

“Just for once, please let this cave not be home to giant spiders or demons or other things that want to kill us,” said Lavellan, only half-jokingly, as Merrill lit the end of her staff, and they looked around. It appeared to be a completely normal cave, small and without any suspicious side passages where things might be lurking. Though they had spent only a minute or so in the rain, the downpour had soaked them to the skin, and they looked around for wood for a fire. At one end of the cave, they found a pile of stacked logs, and not far away, the remains of a campfire.

“Someone’s been here, and recently,” said Lavellan, bending down to examine the ashes.

Merrill looked around, and something she had at first taken for a pile of discarded rags caught her eye. On closer inspection it turned out to be a person, a man, apparently asleep under an extremely shabby cloak. She nudged Lavellan and pointed, and they moved towards him cautiously. Lavellan drew a short knife from her belt. As the light from Merrill’s staff fell over him, she saw elbow-length dirty blond hair tied in a loose braid, and a hollow face covered by a thick beard. It was not until he stirred and his eyes flickered open that she recognized him. Before she could say anything, however, he gave a shout of surprise and backpedaled away from them, his hands going to a wooden staff at his side, which he held in front of him in a defensive position.

Lavellan returned her knife slowly to her belt and held her hands up, “Steady on, we mean you no harm.”

His eyes flickered between them, until they settled on Merrill and widened. His voice was hoarse when he spoke, “Is that you, Merrill?”

“Hullo, Anders,” she said, and she was surprised by how even her voice sounded, “It’s been a while.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Anders?” asked Lavellan, breaking the silence, “ _the_ Anders?”

“I suppose so,” he replied, “And you are…?”

“Elyra Lavellan. Last I heard, you’re still wanted by the Chantry. What are you doing in Orlais of all places?”

“I _was_ sleeping. Though I suppose you mean before that.” He passed a hand over his face and lowered his staff, though he kept it in a firm grip. “A friend of yours, Merrill?”

“She’s the Inquisitor, Anders.”

“Ah. I’ve seen your soldiers around. They ignored me, which was nice of them really. Bigger fish to fry, I suppose. I hear you’re responsible for getting rid of those nasty rifts. Well, let’s get a fire going, and I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”

“Just like that? Aren’t you worried we’re going to drag you off to face justice?” asked Lavellan.

His face twisted into a wry grimace at her choice of words, but he shrugged, “Not in this downpour. And quite frankly, I’m too tired to care.” He pulled a few logs over to the fire pit and lit it with a flick of his wrist, then sat heavily, his staff across his lap. “I don’t suppose you have any food?” he asked.

Merrill fished in her pouches, and pulled out a piece of Dalish-style bread, hardy stuff that made good rations for the road. She handed it to Anders, who wolfed it down like a starving man. Which was probably close to accurate. It wrung Merrill’s heart to see anyone in such a state, old friend or not.

Merrill glanced at Lavellan, who shrugged, and they seated themselves on the other side of the fire to wait for Anders to finish eating. Merrill tried not to stare at the other mage, mind still somewhat in disarray from running into him so suddenly. She cast her eyes out beyond the cave mouth, watching the rain pummel the bushes outside. A different sort of movement caught her attention, and she realized that there was someone approaching. She nudged Lavellan, and they both tensed, peering intently into the bushes. Anders noticed, and froze, following their gaze. They needn’t have worried, however, as a minute later a sopping wet Fenris emerged from the bushes, followed by Krem and the Charger called Dalish.

Merrill jumped up, and walked to the edge of the cave. “Fenris!” She called, “Over here! However did you find us?”

Fenris grinned a little wolfishly. “The Venatori leave a trail of destruction wherever they go. It wasn’t hard to follow, once we realized what you’d done.”

“Thanks for that, by the way,” said Krem. His short hair was plastered to his head and rivulets of water ran down the grooves of his armor. “Made handling the rest all the easier. A bit foolish, though, if you’ll forgive me saying so, your Worship” he tipped his head towards the Inquisitor, who’d come up behind Merrill. “We wouldn’t have known where to look for you if the Boss hadn’t seen which way you’d gone.”

Lavellan shrugged a little sheepishly, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” She resumed her seat by the fire, “Come and get dry. We’re still dripping a bit, and we weren’t in the rain nearly as long as you were.”

Fenris stepped into the cave’s shelter, and began wringing out his hair and clothes. His went still when he spotted Anders, who’d gotten to his feet again and was watching the elf warily.

Fenris looked him up and down, and then snorted. “Found a stray, I see.” He resumed his attempts to dry himself out. Nearby, Krem was doing the same, removing pieces of his armor to get at the cloth underneath. Only Dalish was mostly dry, having probably used magic to keep off the worst of the rain, not that she’d admit it. She simply plopped herself down by the fire and sat staring out into the forest.

“Anders was just about to tell us what he’s been doing since…well, since we saw him last,” said Merrill.

Krem apparently recognized the name and looked hard at the mage for a moment, then shrugged as if deciding it was none of his business and pulled a handkerchief out of his supply pouch to wipe off his face.

“Hmm,” said Fenris, removing one of his leather vambraces. Then: “Oh, stop looking at me like that,” he said to Anders, “I’m not about to cart you off to the templars, now am I?”

A wry smile crossed the mage’s face, “I suppose not.” He sat again. After a beat, the rest of them followed suit. Anders took a sip from his water flask, cleared his throat a little awkwardly, and began.

“After Kirkwall, I drifted a bit, went as far as the Anderfels for a while. I worked as a farm hand or odd-jobs man here and there. Mostly I tried to stay away from people. Justice was…difficult to deal with. I assume you’ve been told about him?” he asked Lavellan, who nodded. “He wanted us to go back, to fight in the war we’d started. It was safer for everyone that we didn’t. I almost had him under control when the explosion at the Conclave happened. At the time, I didn’t know that was what had happened. But I felt the…wrongness with the Fade. I came south, found out what had happened. That’s when we encountered refugees displaced by the Orlesian civil war. We…I stayed to help where we could. As your Inquisition moved in, I was needed less, so I went back to staying out of the way. And that’s about it.” He shrugged. “I suppose now that you’ve found me, I won’t be able to hide anymore,” he added ruefully.

Lavellan was silent for a few moments before leaning forward, “Come work for us, Anders. It would have to be under a pseudonym, but we could offer you protection, food, lodgings, payment. And if you wouldn’t be comfortable working at Skyhold itself, we have plenty of outposts.”

“Why would you do that for me?” he asked, suspicious.

“I’m sure you know, Anders, that you’re considered a dangerous criminal. That being said, _I_ don’t want to execute you, though many would. I do need to keep an eye on you, however. And more than that: you’re useful. The healers we have are good, but they’re not spirit healers, and they’re constantly overworked. I’ve heard about what you can do, and if you commit even half of your potential to the Inquisition’s service, it would make a difference.” She lent back, “What do you say?”

Anders glanced at Merrill, who nodded encouragingly. She wasn’t sure what Hawke would think of this, or even Varric for that matter, but she knew Anders could do good work, and maybe being with the Inquisition could help him manage Justice. He then looked to Fenris, who gazed impassively back.

“I don’t care what you do,” he said, “But I would think service to the Inquisitor is preferable to whatever you’ve been doing out here in the back of beyond. You might even manage to help right some of the wrongs you have committed.”

Anders was silent for a few moments longer, before giving a dry bark of a laugh, “Well…when you put it like that, I don’t suppose I have much choice. Very well, I’ll join your Inquisition.”

After that, they explained to him the reason for their being there. He raised his eyebrows when they mentioned the false Calling put out by Corypheus.

"I though it was odd that it went away so suddenly."

"You mean you heard it too?" asked Merrill.

"Yes. Very faintly, though. I think having Justice in my head drowned out the competition a bit. I didn't let it bother me; I had bigger concerns at the time."

"Interesting..." mused Lavellan and went silent and had to be prompted into continuing the story. Anders offered no further comments, even when the Inquisitor talked about physically entering the Fade, until he heard what had happened to Hawke. Then he put his head in his hands.

“Typical of her,” he said roughly, “Always trying to play the hero.”

By the time they had finished telling him about their plan to get her back, the rain had stopped, and in the silence they lapsed into, each in their own thoughts, only the sounds of distant bird calls and the irregular dripping of wet foliage could be heard. Fenris was still now, watchful. Krem drew idle circles in the dirt with his finger. Dalish lay on her back, examining the roof of the cave. Merrill twisted her staff between her hands, while Lavellan sat poised in her cross-legged position. Anders, staring at the ground in quiet contemplation, was the first to speak again.

“I should offer to help. Maker knows I owe it to her. But Justice gets…strange when we get too close to rifts. They warp everything around them, particularly things that belong on the other side of the Veil.”

Merrill hadn’t really been expecting him to help at all, so was not disappointed, but it meant something that he cared enough to want to help.

It was late afternoon by the time they rejoined the rest of their party, Anders in tow. When Varric saw their new addition, his eyes widened for a moment, and then his mouth hardened. He nodded once to Anders, sharply, and then turned away. The message was clear: Anders would not soon find forgiveness on that front. Merrill hadn’t been around Varric much in the aftermath of the Chantry explosion, but Kirkwall was his city even more than it had been Hawke’s. Varric had a big heart, and with that came the potential for betrayal to cut all the deeper. They would fix things between them or they wouldn’t. Only time would tell. 

In the meantime, Lavellan explained to the group everything that had happened since they’d been separated, how they had found Anders, and their plans for him. Everyone had had a long day, and they were eager for a rest. As luck would have it, they were not too far from an Inquisition outpost. This one had several rudimentary buildings, and they were able to get a decent night’s rest on actual beds, instead of on the ground. They decided to leave Anders at that camp under supervision; this he acquiesced to without a single protest. They would come for him on the return trip and decide his fate from there.

“Good luck,” he said to Merrill, as they saddled up the next day. “When you see Hawke… well, maybe just warn her I’m here so she doesn’t kill me on sight? Or knows to avoid me, at least.”

Merrill then surprised both him and herself by drawing him into a hug. “Take care, Anders.”

She left him standing there, looking a bit lost, and wondered at what the future would hold for them both.


	15. Chapter 15

_The Arishok falls. Hawke slumps and Merrill rushes towards her, not relieved yet that it’s over because Hawke is_ hurt _, there’s a lot of blood, and not all of it is the Arishok’s. Merrill puts Hawke’s arm over her shoulder, mindful of the other woman’s injuries. Hawke leans into her, breath ragged._

_Meredith and her Templars arrive. Hawke is announced Champion of Kirkwall. The people start cheering, and Hawke manages a little wave before stumbling again. Fenris moves forward to support her other side as Varric sends a runner for Anders._

_“Tell him to meet us at Hawke’s estate,” he informs the boy._

_Carefully, carefully they manoeuver Hawke out of the Keep. Varric gathers up Hawke’s weapons and trails behind them._

_“Keep me informed of her condition,” Merrill hears Aveline tell Varric in a low voice. He nods, and she turns away to direct her guardsman to keep order and clear away the massive horned corpses that now decorate the hall._

_The going is agonisingly slow. Hawke leans heavily against the two elves. Fenris removes his spiked shoulder plates, and hands them to Varric so as to make things more comfortable for their friend. Merrill hadn’t seen exactly where Hawke had been hit, it had been hard to tell between the flashing blades and the Arishok’s bulk, but she can see where most of the blood is concentrated. There aren’t any organs where they shouldn’t be, which Merrill takes to be a good sign, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t terrible damage. There are smaller injuries in half a dozen other places, and between them all, Hawke has lost a lot of blood. Merrill has never wished more fervently that she could heal._

_To hide her fear, she keeps up a constant, rambling litany of comments and encouragement. “One more step, Hawke. There we go. Now just one more again. Goodness, I’ve never noticed quite how many stairs there are in Kirkwall, have you Hawke? No wonder no one here rides horses, they wouldn’t like this much, would they?”_

_Between her ramblings, Varric also talks to Hawke, trying to keep her aware and focused on the present, when every few minutes her eyes seems to glaze and her feet, so nimble in battle only minutes ago, move in shuffling steps across the cobbles. “‘Champion of Kirkwall’. That’s one for the books, eh Hawke? Are we all going to have to start bowing to you and calling you your ladyship? I’ll have to dress in my best every time we go out so I don’t tarnish your reputation.”_

_This manages to elicit a weak cough of a laugh from Hawke, but she doesn’t retort as she would have normally done._

_Finally, finally they make it to Hawke’s house. Anders is there already, a little out of breath from running all the way from his clinic. He leads them upstairs to Hawke’s room, and then ushers them out of the room. Merrill is left wringing her hands in the hallway._

_“Hey,” says Varric, putting a hand on her arm, “She’ll be fine. Blondie knows his business. And besides, this is Hawke we’re talking about.” He guides her downstairs to sit by the fire in the living room. Fenris is there, cleaning Hawke’s daggers, outwardly calm but for the tense set of his shoulders. Bodahn brings tea for them. It seems an age before Anders appears at the top of the staircase, looking tired but not grim._

_“She’s sleeping,” he tells them, slumping into a chair, “I sorted out the worst of it, but she’ll still need several weeks of bedrest.” After a silence during which Merrill breathes a sigh of relief, and the tension in the room lessens considerably, he adds, with a hint of exasperation, “Would you mind calling me in advance next time Hawke challenges a Qunari to single combat?”_

_“You were busy,” says Varric mildly, as Anders pours himself a cup of tea from the pot on the table, “Besides, Meredith was there. We don’t want the two of you in the same room.”_

_Merrill interrupts then: “Can I see her?”_

_Anders waves his hand, “Be my guest. Just don’t disturb her or the dressings.”_

_Merrill leaves them to their tea, and runs lightly upstairs, pushing Hawke’s door open carefully. The curtains are drawn against the late afternoon light that normally pours into this room._

_“Could you open those just a bit? It’s rather dark in here.” Of course Hawke is awake, though her voice is hazy with sleep._

_“You should be resting,” says Merrill, crossing to pull the curtains a fraction apart, and then turns to regard Hawke on the bed._

_“I_ am _resting. Look, I’m lying down and everything.” She attempts one of her disarming smiles, but it comes across as more of a grimace._

_“Are you in pain?” asks Merrill._

_“Nah. Anders patched me up with his usual skill,” she tries to pull herself up a bit and winces, “Well, maybe a little bit. Still, I’m not dead, and that’s something.”_

_At this, Merrill’s composure crumbles. “Oh, Hawke!” she rushes forwards to embrace the other woman, mindful of her injuries. Tears prick at her eyes. “We almost lost you!_ I _almost lost you!”_

_“Shhh, shhh,” says Hawke, patting her back carefully, “It’s alright. I told you, I’ll be fine. I’m too stubborn to die, didn’t you know?” She pulls back a little, and presses a gentle kiss to Merrill’s lips. “See,” she smiles, “Still alive.”_

_Through her tears, Merrill laughs. Hawke has always had a reassuring way about her._

_“Stay with me? Just until I fall asleep again,” begs Hawke, settling back down._

_“Of course,_ vhenan _,” she replies, and lies down on the other side of Hawke’s big four-poster bed, holding her love’s hand._

_“I’m sorry for scaring you, Merrill,” says Hawke after a moment, “But I’m not sorry for doing what I did.”_

_“I know,” says Merrill softly, “You wouldn’t be Hawke if you were.”_

_Hawke smiles faintly, but she is already most of the way towards sleep and doesn’t reply. Before long, Merrill follows her into slumber at her side._

~~~

 

As they travelled west over the next few days, the forests gradually thinned into scrubland, and the air became drier to the point where Merrill began to miss the fog. She also missed the trees; they were scattered few and far between here, and were twisted and stunted, offering little protection from the sun. The Inquisitor had come prepared, however, and a combination of head scarves and wide-brimmed hats were distributed amongst their company. These came with the reassurance that though they might look silly, it was far preferable to getting burnt or sunstroke, and that the scarves in particular would be useful for keeping sand out of their faces once they reached the desert.

Though others grumbled, and some flatly refused the hats and took only the scarves, Merrill quite delighted in hers. She decorated its broad edge with the leaves and flowers of the hardy little plants that lived in the area, and expended just a little magic to keep them from drying up. The result, she thought, was quite fetching. The scarf she tied around her neck for the time being; it reminded her of the green one she had worn in Kirkwall for many years, until it had been used as a rope or bandage far too many times and had to be discarded. Not long after that, Hawke had helped her buy her new armor, and she’d never gotten around to replacing it. Somehow having a scarf again was comforting.

They found a rift before they reached the desert. It hovered above the brambles and scrubby grass, the same sickly green as the one in Ferelden, but made somehow more eerie for the sparse terrain. Their party halted some distance away to gather their weapons together before going to face the demons that patrolled around its base.

“Don’t forget not to close it yet, Inquisitor!” called Dagna after them, from where she was unloading her equipment from the packhorse, “I need to run tests, remember!”

Dealing with the demons was easy with both the Inquisitor’s rift-disrupting abilities and their large party size. In short order, they were standing guard at the rift while Dagna fiddled with her instruments and the little box that could be Hawke’s salvation.

“Hold this, will you?” Dagna shoved a long metal rod on a thin chain attached to one of the instruments at the Iron Bull. “No, no, higher than that, right above your head.”

“Why do _I_ have to do this?” asked Bull, while the Chargers snickered.

“You’re the tallest,” said Dagna simply, and Merrill thought she heard her mutter something like “get the best reception that way” as she turned back to her other equipment.

Merrill exchanged a glance with Dorian, whose shrug indicated he had no more idea what that was about than Merrill did.

“She’s more organized than you were, Merrill,” teased Fenris, watching the dwarf’s activities with interest.

“ _She’s_ the Inquisition’s Arcanist,” Merrill shot back good-naturedly, “I’d never even seen a rift before that one in Ferelden.”

Meanwhile, Dagna had summoned Dorian to her side, and was instructing him on how to pour his power into the device.

“Yes, like that. No, don’t do it yet, just give me one moment.” She turned a few crystals in their sockets, “Ok, go.”

Dorian turned his magic on the device and Merrill felt more than saw the energy being redirected towards the rift. The rod held by the Iron Bull began to emit a faint whirring sound and several crystals lit up along Dagna’s equipment. The rift pulsed. Several people put their hands to their weapons, expecting demons, but none emerged. Dagna bustled around, mumbling to herself and occasionally adjusting something.

Eventually she looked up, “We’re in business,” she grinned.

Dorian released his power with a gesture and the Inquisitor moved forward to close the rift.

“Well, that’s wasn’t so bad,” said Dorian as the rift collapsed and dispersed. “I think I could have lasted a while longer. Even more with some lyrium potions to hand.”

“Let’s hope it’s enough,” said Lavellan behind him, shaking out her hand slightly as if closing the rift had stung.

They were back on the road before long. Another day of riding and they were in the desert of the Western Approach. Merrill was instantly glad for her new protection from the sun and sand. There had been sand on the Wounded Coast, but it was nothing like this. In places it was all that could be seen in every direction, though as they veered south they saw more and more of the region’s distinctive red rock poking up in weather-worn formations.

For a while they followed a canyon with a struggling little stream at the bottom, which provided some protection from the elements. They stayed a night at the Inquisition’s Griffon Wing Keep, before moving on. At last, they reached the remains of Adamant Fortress.

It was hard to tell how big the fortress had been, given that it had been reduced to rubble by the Chargers and Inquisition troops after the siege. Much of the stone had been carted away for use elsewhere, and very little was left to give clues as to what had even been there. Even so, the whole place seemed to carry ghosts.

As the rest of their group dismounted and began to set up camp, Merrill picked her way across the ruins to the cliff’s edge. Very carefully, she peered over. The canyon walls descended deep into the darkness, beyond even the reach of the desert’s harsh sun. She shivered, and turned away.

“How could anyone want to build a fortress on the edge of such a thing?” she asked aloud.

“Presumably to keep whatever’s down there where it belongs,” said Fenris, coming up to stand beside her.

They stared across the canyon in silence, listening to the wind whistle into the abyss below

“So, this is it,” he said.

“Yes,” said Merrill.

“Bring her back,” said Fenris.

“I will,” said Merrill, and in that moment believed it.

They rejoined the others, who by this time had finished setting up. Dagna’s device sat on a rock, a good distance from their camp in case anything went wrong. They gathered around, Dorian standing by it, ready with his power. Lavellan took a breath and stepped forward towards the desert expanse, reached forward with her marked hand and _pulled_. With a sound like a thundercrack, a rift exploded into existence. Dorian activated the device. Lavellan looked between him and Dagna: “Alright?” They both nodded.

She turned to Merrill, “Are you ready?” Merrill’s heart jumped. Suddenly she was very aware of what they were about to do. It was both terrifying and thrilling. _Hang on, Hawke, I’m coming!_ She exchanged glances with Fenris, before stepping to Lavellan’s side.

“I’m ready,” she said, and together they stepped into the Fade.


End file.
